I belong to you
by TheNoir
Summary: When the Joker vanishes from his cell one night without a trace, Batman is instantly on the case. But as the days turn into months, and the months into years, he begins to question himself. Is the joker really dead? Or is it one of the clown's most torturous schemes yet?
1. Chapter 1

It had been exactly six years today since the announcement of the Joker's supposed 'death'.

It had been six years since, one by one, every file, document and hint of the Joker's criminal career had started to conveniently disappear, as if someone was attempting to slowly erase the clown from history itself.

Of course Batman knew about this, and had all of the files backed up thrice, but it still didn't subside the hopelessness he felt knowing that if he had just listened to his gut, he could have saved the Clown Prince of Crime all those years ago, and more importantly found out the truth behind what had happened to him.

It was almost funny looking back upon the last moments he had shared with the Joker, and how utterly mediocre and formula they were, at least for them.

He remembered vaguely that they had fought on the rooftops that night.

The Joker had gone on a mad looting spree, robbing shops, banks and homes alike. No doubt collecting funds for his lavish theatrics, that although flashy, came at a hefty price.

Usually those kinds of activities were assigned to thugs only, but he wasn't surprised when he saw the madman shoulder to shoulder with his own men, joining in on the fun. After all, the Joker always had preferred the hands on approach.

He had swooped down just as the Joker and a few of his hired help were breaking into a car, and with startling speed seized the clown, grappling to higher ground before the thugs could interject. This allowed Batman to settle his dispute with the Joker without the hassle of having to take on numerous henchmen too.

Once they were alone, high above the city, the Joker made his usual speech of '_how they always ended up in this situation_', and '_that this was forever_'.

It pained the dark knight to know how wrong the Joker's last prediction had been.

After that a fight had sparked, brutal and unrestrained as usual, with the Joker dishing out all of the tricks and agility he was so notoriously renowned for, and Batman relying on more sheer force to try and keep the clown down. After a few minutes, one of them finally surfaced as victorious.

As Batman held the unconscious clown by the scruff, his body flopping limp onto the concrete, there was one thing that had caught his attention. It was a small detail that he brushed off as unimportant then, but that mattered now with the gift of hindsight.

The Joker was partly faking his unconsciousness. It was something that was barely noticeable, but with his trained eye, it stood out as clear as day.

He didn't act upon this knowledge however. Batman didn't want to have to try and subdue the Joker again. He was however, a tad more wary around the dormant madman.

Batman had also noted that the Joker was quieter than usual on the car ride back to the asylum, choosing about half way through the ride to 'wake' from his slumber, knowing it wasn't fooling anyone. When he awoke, he opted instead to stare out the passenger side window with a hollow, listless stare. Apart from the corny pun and spontaneous chuckle occasionally, the Joker was far more hushed than usual.

It was like his body was on autopilot and his mind was miles away.

The Jokers uncharacteristic behaviour had unnerved Batman, but he ignored it, blaming it on the fact that Joker was a disgracefully bad loser.

The Dark Knight couldn't get himself to believe this lie though.

It would spit on all of the training and years he had spent tapping into the madman's psyche at his own expense.

When they reached the asylum was when thunderous alarm bells went off in the dark detectives head. And this was also the point in the night where he felt the greatest shame for his actions, or lack thereof, most of all.

The ignorance he displayed as he dragged the Joker out of the Batmobile with dishonourably excessive force, despite the man's distinct lack of struggling, was simply unwarranted. Looking back, it was yet more behaviour that the Joker had never displayed until that night.

The Joker was always all smiles and conceit when he was handed over to the orderlies in Arkham, even after the most bitter defeat. He could have multiple fractured ribs and still walk with a swagger, and so to feel the Joker go slack in his grip and not try and struggle was just an alien sensation.

The man was obviously was fearful of whatever fate awaited him in that madhouse and was blatantly protesting, albeit in his own backwards way.

But nevertheless, Batman still hauled him though the entrance and down the corridors, pretending not to notice the shocked faces and hushed whispers of the doctors and guards as he passed them, obviously not used to seeing the Joker so frightfully dead-eyed either.

When he finally reached the Joker's cell, a wave of relief washed over him, knowing that Gotham would soon be a little bit safer, at least for a little while. More importantly, Batman would be able to discard the unwarranted worry that had gripped him all night.

At least that's what he had thought.

When the door to the Joker's cell began to close with a loud whirr, the electric panel slowly obscuring the view of the clown inside at a steady pace, Batman had no idea that would be the last time he would see the man.

When his cell was opened again the next morning, it was empty.

It had stayed that way ever since.

The last time he checked, Bruce was pretty sure they had plastered over the entrance. Everyone was too scared to enter, yet didn't want the constant reminder of the clowns reign, so this was a compromise.

But of course when the word of the Jokers disappearance had originally spread; no-one was initially surprised, just assuming he broke out again. However, as days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, rumours started to circulate that the clown might be dead, killed at the hand of some crazed kidnapper, or worse.

The Idea that someone that once stood so tall was now dead shook the criminal underworld with great force, and even unnerved the hero community too.

But most who knew him personally didn't keep there hopes up that he was actually down for the count. Most men were wise enough not to invest their beliefs petty rumours, especially since the grinning lunatic had died and come back to life multiple times before.

Batman too shared the belief that the Joker wasn't really dead. For months afterwards he always made sure to put some time aside from current cases to revisit Joker's, looking for any clues he had left behind.

There were never any loose ends or leads to follow though, and as the one year anniversary of the Joker's disappearance neared, the public's interest quipped again. But Batman's hope for finding the clown alive dropped significantly, not expecting the search to take this long.

As his morale fell, the people closest to him became growingly concerned.

None of them expected that Batman would take the Joker's departure so hard. Or try and deny his death so blatantly.

Despite there valiant tries to talk sense into him, he would push them away, simply stating that they didn't understand and that Joker wouldn't do this.

Not to him.

By the second year their sympathies had faded, and the air was instead filled with a frustrated hostility like never before. Fights sparked up often, with Bruce's family asking why he would spend so much time on a dead-end case regarding a man everybody despised, but not with his own sons.

The charred body was found soon after that, just a few weeks before Damian had moved in with Dick, deciding to fight crime in Bludhaven instead. No-one took the obsession that Batman had developed with the Joker harder than Damian, who had never felt fully excepted by his father even before.

But Batman couldn't find himself capable of caring, especially when a lead had finally appeared.

The body was found at the ace chemical plant, huddled under some stairs. The remains would have been rather hard to find for this reason. The corpse, between suffering from advanced decomposition and severe chemical burns to at least eighty percent of his body, was unidentifiable.

But when the tabloids caught word of the mysterious body, and that it just happened to be in the same place the Joker was 'born', they naturally made the assumption it was the Joker himself.

The city was whipped into a frenzy once again, and all that could be heard on the streets was gossip of the dead clown, and then, shamefully, the attempted suicide of the Jokers on and off again girlfriend, Harley.

The absence of the Joker had become too much for the Harlequin, and when batman had heard of what happened, he found himself being able to understand to some extent the grief she must have been feeling.

As soon as they had a body, the courts desperately tried to get the Joker to be declared deceased, so to close this case once and for all.

But when the remains were finally tested in a lab and found out not to be his, they instead decided to plead death in absentia. Batman knew that to plead that without any sure evidence meant that the person had to have been missing for seven years or, usually, a lot longer.

But for some reason officials were transfixed on burying the Joker, and so after a bitter and disgracefully rushed legal battle, the plea was finally passed.

By the time the fourth year of the Jokers demise ticked over, he had been officially declared deceased.

This hit Batman a lot harder that he cared to admit, but not because he was grieving.

It was a lie.

And even though everybody thought him mad for believing otherwise, he'd never give up searching, because he knew the Joker was alive.

Of course he never voiced these beliefs anymore, and because of that his family mostly presumed he had finally gotten over it. But the truth was he was just getting better at hiding his feelings about the clown's disappearance. It was suppressed deep down; in around about the same spot he kept the pain of his parent's death, which was a wound that also still bled fresh, just like it always had, despite what the people surrounding him believed.

He studied the case only in secret, when no-one was around.

And that's how it stayed for the next two years, right up until now. Life had supposedly returned to normal, and he acted the part, going to functions and business meetings when Bruce Wayne was called upon, and still went to patrol the streets every night as Batman.

He even managed to patch things up with his family, and although he knew he should have felt glad that they were willing to give him another chance, the whole experience left him feeling nothing but emptiness.

But still he smiled and played along, for lack of a better response, though inside he was hollow.

And that was the situation he found himself in, up until now.

With a flute of fine champagne in one hand, and cigar in the other, he was currently talking to some big CEO-of-hell-knows-what, and giving short, uninterested replies.

Two beautiful girls, one brunette, the other a redhead, were shamelessly draping themselves around his shoulders, acting like the superficial accessories to his facade that they were.

A few other business men and women were also standing round with drinks in their hands, gathered in a cosy circle.

Bruce had tried to keep the conversation purely on business matters, but it was impossible, especially considering what day today was.

"I personally think he's gone undercover. He could be in this very room." One of the businessmen stated.

A tubby, greying man across him scoffed.

The brunette next to him gasped. "Wow. Really? That's scary."

The redhead on the other side nodded in silent agreement.

An older woman, smothered in garish makeup in a sad attempt to conceal her age, which up until this point was busy with a mouth full of caviar, finally piped up. "You know, I watched a documentary that said he has most likely started a cult. Simply shocking what that vile man is capable of."

This comment made Bruce's blood boil. If the Joker was doing anything like that, he'd know.

"Well, I think If he was doing something like that, Batman would have found him by now," Bruce scoffed, saying it with a tad more malice then intended.

A few muttered their agreements.

"What about you, Bruce? Do you think he is alive?" The old woman questioned.

Bruce faltered, not sure how he felt about the question.

"Aah, well... you see-"

The billionaire was rudely cut off as his shoulder was bumped into, sending both him and the girls clinging to him toppling to the ground, along with their drinks.

"-'Scuse me, coming through." An unknown voice muttered, as he shoved his way into the circle, trying not to bump the beer in his hand.

"So what we talking about- oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to bump you." The stranger coyly spluttered out when he saw Bruce on the floor.

"It's nothing."Bruce was too distracted with cleaning up some champagne off one of the girls to reply fully, "And if you really wish to know, we were talking about-"

As Bruce turned around to face the man, he found himself staring only at a line of legs. The man was instead crouched next to him, helping the brunette that also fell with what looked like a broken heel.

That wasn't that threw him off though.

What threw him of was that the man was no stranger.

He was a couple of inches taller than him. That was obvious, even as they were both crouching. He had met only a handful of people whose height exceeded his, and it wasn't exactly a common occurrence.

He had met even fewer men who were so effeminate and slim in build for their height, and only one who matched the way this man held himself, which was something that Bruce could only describe as a bizarre parallel between a theatrical daintiness, and an overbearing confidence.

But with his deep, baritone voice, that he could turn from dizzyingly seductive to terrifyingly brutal in mere minutes, there was no questioning that he was very much a man.

And if the brunette woman he was attending to, who couldn't suppress her constant giggling or her cheeks flushing a bright ruby red as she was being assisted by the man was anything to go by, a rather desirable one.

Except when the man turned around to meet his gaze, it wasn't exactly what he had envisioned.

Yes, the man's face was long, and he had high, defined cheek bones. And, just like he expected, below that was a jaw line so sharp it looked like you could cut yourself on the corners if you cradled it in your hands.

However, both his hair and eyes had been changed to a much more welcoming shade of chocolate brown, and his skin, although still pale, was far a more palatable peach. But not even contact lenses could smother the dangerous glimmer he held in his eyes.

"-The Joker." Bruce gasped.

The man paused

"_The_ _Joker_?" He echoed back, a perplexed look on his face.

"W- We were talking about him. About the Joker." Bruce finally managed.

The man let out a gravelly chuckle, before placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Oh, good."The man rose, facing the now perplexed guests," I _Certainly_ can tell you a thing or two about _him_."


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce couldn't help breathe a big sigh of relief when he reached the solace of the men's toilets down the hall.

He hadn't actually needed to go; but it hadn't stopped him using it as an excuse.

After all, with his years of training to become Batman, he had to become in tune with himself, both body and soul. That also included bodily functions, and subconsciously it had become normal practice for him to cut down on eating and drinking, starting around lunchtime, unless entirely necessary.

Batman couldn't afford bathroom breaks, especially when even after great modification, it took at least 15 minutes to take his costume on and off, and in a hostage situation that could mean the difference between a bad memory and a utter tragedy.

So instead of actually using the bathroom he hunched down and sat uncomfortably in one of the small stalls, his mind totally consumed by thoughts of the last few hours, which spun around dizzily in his brain like a tornado.

Although his mind was reeling, a few select thoughts managed to rise up out of the fog.

Was it really the Joker he had seen just then?

Was he really alive?

Although all signs pointed to yes, Bruce couldn't let himself get his hopes up that this man was really him, unless he had solid proof.

He doubted he would be able to recover from the crushing blow ,if he started believing that this was really the Joker and then found out later he was just an impostor, or some freak y doppelganger.

One question nagged at him the most though; if the Joker had been alive all this time, why choose now to show himself?

Was it just a coincidence?

Or did he know he was Bruce Wayne?

Both just brought up even more and more questions, all of which he was getting no closer to finding answers to, at least where he was currently.

But how to go about it?

Bruce sighed.

Even though it would kill him to do so, he would play along with the Jokers bizarre charade, for now. He knew that the one thing that would never change with the madman was his love for games. He just had to learn the new rules, and soon enough he would get his chance to strike.

Stepping out of the stall however, he soon realised all of his worries had become utterly redundant.

His heart stopped when he realised he wasn't alone, and saw the man who had been occupying his thoughts for the whole evening causally sitting on the ledge of the sink, re-doing his makeup.

The man seemed to ignore Bruce, or was simply unaware that he was there, as he favoured instead to continue powdering his face.

The billionaire was too shocked to think of anything cohesive to say.

After a tense silence, one of them spoke.

"...So, whaddya think, Batsy? I thought the brown was a little hum drum, but the gals seem to swoon over it, weird, huh?"

Snapping the compact shut, the Joker eyes finally fell on the rigid figure still frozen in the cubicles entryway.

"I didn't hear the door open." Bruce finally muttered out, although the guttural monotone it came out as showed which side of him was really proclaiming the statement.

The Joker scoffed.

"I have my ways, Bats. But you already know that, don't you? Oh! Or was that just a sad attempt to break the ice?"

The clown hopped off the bench, taking long, idle strides towards the Batman.

Moving in close, the Jester began to talk, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sure you have more important questions whirring around in that unfathomably complex brain of yours, then how I manage to open and close doors silently."

Bruce didn't reply, and he could see frustration momentarily was across the clowns face.

It soon disappeared though, and the Joker let out a soft sigh, before running a hand though his hair.

"Look bats_, I get it_. It must be like seeing a ghost, seeing me again after all these years. And I know, oh, I am more aware than you realise of the _fear_ then _regret_ and then the _blatant denial_ you must have experienced after my 'death'. And I know that you probably blame yourself for what happened, but newsflash Bats, you couldn't have saved me. Not that night. Not that time."

Batman stood stoic, his face holding an unreadable expression as he stared the clown down, who was apparently a tad more patent this time, standing in silence.

"...Why not?" Bruce finally managed.

And it was Bruce talking, because only he could sound so broken.

The Jokers eye shot wide, never hearing that tone from the other man.

"I'll tell you everything, _later_. I promise. But it needs to be somewhere secure."

With that the Joker left, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts once more.

Well, If this didn't crystallize the notion that this man was really the Joker in his head, nothing would.

Looking into the grimy bathroom mirror, he combed back his hair and attempted to smile, pretending not to notice that in his reflection it looked more like a grimace.

Now would be the hardest part of all, to face his guests for the rest of the night.

A few shaky breaths later, he had forced most of his fears aside; successfully returning to the happy-go-lucky Bruce Wayne he was faking before.

"Well, I've only had six years to practice," Bruce sighed to himself, pushing open the toilet door.

When Bruce emerged, he sensed instantly that he had missed something.

The Joker was standing amongst a crowd to guests, who were all applauding.

After a few stiff bows from the clown, the clapping died down, and the crowd that had gathered began to dissipate, receding back into their own little clicks that had momentarily vanished prior.

As he walked to where the crowd was minutes ago, he noticed that the room had been ushered back into a familiar stillness, and all that could he heard were usual sounds of laughter, clinking of glasses, and patrons whispering with hushed voices, Bruce was sure they would be talking about the 'mysterious' new visitor.

Though looking around, he couldn't see the Joker anywhere.

The silence was soon filled with a crackling from the P.A. system, which the billionaire hadn't noticed had been turned off in the first place.

Music gently flowed from the speakers and filled the air once again, and he couldn't help but sense the music selected was a bizarre choice for a room of rich, prudish businessmen, most of them over well over sixty.

"Aww, you're _not_ a Tom Waits fan then?"

Bruce spun around to see the Joker standing behind him.

"Uhh, sure," The billionaire shrugged light-heartedly. "Just for a function it seems a bit..."

"..._Strange_?"

Bruce only then noticed the disk in the madman's left hand, titled _Symphony Classics Vol.5_.

"...You swapped the disks."

The Joker only replied by pressing a finger up to his smirking lips, signalising secrecy.

There was an apprehensive stillness between the two, and it was only then that Bruce realized he had forgotten pleasantries earlier.

It would be awkward now, sure, but they needed to make it look like they had never met before today, and in all truthfulness, he had no clue what alias the clown was using.

"...I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name earlier." Bruce casually stated.

"That's because I didn't say what it was." The Clown Prince scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. In one fluid sweep he retrieved his beer that was sitting on the ledge of the bar, which miraculously hadn't been knocked off by the crowd earlier.

Taking a sip however, his face contorted into one of repulsion.

"Urhg, it's warm." The Joker muttered to himself, discarding the glass by sliding it back onto the bar, but overshooting, making the beer slide right off the bench and shatter on the floor.

He glanced down at the pile of glass shards, surrounded in a steadily growing golden pool of room-temperature Guinness.

Then he looked at Bruce, then back to the mess.

"Uhh well, seeing you're probably going to have to put that on my tab anyway, the names Jack." He sniggered, extending a hand out to the billionaire.

Bruce accepted the hand with a warm smile, "Don't worry about it, _Jack_. We don't charge for broken glasses. If we did, I could make a whole new fortune on all the tipsy patrons here tonight that can't hold their liquor, let alone keep a glass in their _hands_ until the end of the evening."

Jack smiled back and nodded in agreement, looking around at the other patrons, clearly noticing that a few of them were already becoming unsteady on their feet, just like Bruce had speculated.

"And here was me thinking you businessman types were all squares." Jack mused to himself, continuing to scan the crowd.

"Well, I think that just goes to show that if you get anybody drunk enough, things will become...Interesting."

"You don't say," The Jack hummed, his eyes set on the now vacant dance floor in the center of the room.

"...So, when does the bad dancing start?"

Bruce smirked, reassured by how easy it was to pretend.

"Well, I'd give it a couple more hours, but be patient." He chuckled, grabbing his own champagne that he had left behind earlier. "If there drunk enough, they'll come."

Just then a few guests that he recognized as the Vice Presidents of a company he was currently involved in strenuous deals with began to walk over, all smiles and deceit.

"Bruce! You've been quite the enigma tonight, almost as much as your new friend." A man stated, pointing a cigar he clenched in his hand at Jack.

Ah, yes well...sorry about that." Bruce chuckled, although truthfully all he wanted to do was grab the two slimy executive's heads and smash them together.

Jack scoffed, much to the surprise of everyone.

"Don't apologise, Bruce. You're a busy man. If they want to talk, then they've got to chase you up themselves."

"Is that true?" One of the business men scowled, clearly insulted.

"And who are you to say this? Do have any clue who we are representing?" The other man added in a demanding tone, obviously feeling brave whilst being obscured behind his taller companion.

Bruce, sensing hostility, attempted to diffuse the tension.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure he didn't mean-"

Jack stepped in front of Bruce, pushing him aside.

"Pfft, yeah I _know who you are_. You, sir, are the head CEO of the severely in debt Selo-tech Company, which is all bluff and manipulation, quite like yourself. And as for the snidely little lackey behind you, I think I recognize his face from the _news_...oh, what was that story about again? _Drug_ _charges_? Heh, perhaps that's were all your companies money went_, right up his nose_-"

"-You shut your mouth-"

"But why should I? I'm just answering the questions that you asked! Oh, and If you really need a name to cry into the arms of that prostitute you'll find yourself with at the end of the night, the names Jack, Jack White, and I'm currently the highest bidder on your god forsaken company, so perhaps if you play nice, and I'll save you the shame of an early retirement."

In the silence that followed Jack's statement, you could almost feel the figurative shift in power.

Jack stood stoic, as smug as he always was, whilst the two business were suddenly by his side, stuttering there sincerely desperate apologies.

When they turned to Bruce, their desperate faces turned into a bitter glare, and it was only then that he realised, although hit was unintentionally, he was smiling too.

Attempting to cover his grin with a half-hearted coughing fit, he felt far too haughty as he saw them finally skulk away, with their tails between their legs.

When the pair had finally vanished back into the crowd, Bruce turned around to give the Jack a perplexed look, only to be met with the same expression on the others face.

"What the hell was there deal, Bruce? And how could you just sit there and take their passive aggressive bullshit?" Jack snapped.

"Passive aggre- I'm a businessman! I can't just slander anyone that I dislike! And don't turn this around onto me! Are you really buying Selo-tech, or was that just bluff?"

A dangerous glimmer sparked off in Jack's eye as the revelation of why Bruce was so aggravated hit him.

"Oh! I get it now. I know what this is about; you were hoping if you jumped through all of their little hoops, they give you the company to run. Well guess what? I wasn't bluffing, and that company is as good as mine."

"Why? What are you doing with it?" Bruce growled, knowing what the Joker would be capable of with that much power and money.

Realizing that Batman had misunderstood, Jack stuttered back over his words, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Look Bruce, I'm not here to tread on your toes, in fact quite the opposite. We need to work together, but to do that I need to be at your level. I insulted those businessmen on purpose, to deter them, there nothing but bad news. Believe me, if you get associated with them, they could try and drag you down too."

Sighing, Jack fiddled with his fingers, wishing he still had a beer to drink.

"I think it's about time I told you the whole story, told you why I'm here in the first place. But like I said before, It needs to be somewhere private. I'll tell you what, I'll sneak into the manor later, and I'll bring proof of my claims, 'cause i know you like that sort of thing-"

"-My _house_? Are you _mad_?-"

"I know this sounds crazy, but you have to trust me ok? Forces are at work, with powers that you can't even imagine, and even worse, there working within the boundaries of the law. They are the reason I disappeared, and there the reason I'm standing in front of you now. So please, Bruce, _trust me_."

Then, for the second time tonight, Jack turned around and walked away from the Dark Knight, disappearing into a crowd of sequinned gowns and three piece suits.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as he could do so without looking suspicious, he had left the party. Bruce blamed his bizarre behaviour on a mystery aliment that'd made him feel unpleasant the whole night, most likely a cold or the flu.

Everybody believed his excuse, not that they cared all that much, and the guests had most likely forgotten about Bruce by the time he walked out the door.

When he called Alfred to pick him up however, his faithful butler didn't buy the excuse for a second.

"Master Bruce, I _am_ aware of what date it is today." Alfred merely stated with a solemn understanding.

Bruce was quiet for the rest of the ride back to the manor, feeling ashamed of lying to his Butler, but taking comfort in knowing that to some extent that his old friend understood.

When they reached the manor, the purple and pink streaks that lined the dusk sky began to fade into an inky blackness, and Bruce knew begrudgingly that duty called.

But as he began to decline down the stone steps that spiralled into the belly of the Bat-cave, he remembered the Joker's announcement, that he was going to sneak into the mansion tonight, and there was no hope in hell he was going risk leaving his family alone with the clown, 'reformed' or not.

So instead he let his Robins patrol for the night, sent out with the mandatory instructions to contact him as soon as they were in over their heads.

Tim was thrilled about being let out with only Damian's companionship, probably seeing it as one step closer to trust and independence he craved.

Damian however was a tad more begrudging, viewing Bruce's recent reliance on his sons as a chore, but quickly quietened down and complied when Alfred helpfully reminded him what day it was.

By sending Tim and Damian out, he felt comfortable that the streets of Gotham would still be tended to by a set of competent, watchful eyes. It also meant that they would be out of the manor and far away from the Joker (that's if he stayed true to his word, and actually make an appearance tonight).

With that Batman realised he had successfully killed two birds with one stone, for which he was glad.

But he didn't particularly like using that phrase in this scenario, for obvious reasons.

Rising from his chair and switching off the Bat-computer, he began to make his way back to the house, knowing there was one person he'd never be able to get out of the house, at least without rousing suspicion.

He knew that he would have to tell Alfred eventually, and preferably before a giddy clown knocked on his door or snuck through the window, giving the poor man a heart attack.

When he finally approached Alfred a few minutes later, sheepishly announcing that he had something to tell him, he could tell by the butlers expression that he wasn't the least surprised.

"Oh, Really Sir? And whatever would _that_ be?" The butler haughtily mused, raising a singular eyebrow in suspicion.

"Well…" Bruce started; rubbing a sweaty palm across his forehead and raking it though his hair, attempting to contemplate how to even begin.

Exhaling in exasperation, he shakily laughed, realizing no matter how he said it, he would sound as mad as the clown himself.

"I…Well, I- I saw the Joker. Tonight. At that party." Bruce shrugged calmly, like seeing you dead arch-nemesis after six years, and on the anniversary of his death to boot, was the most normal thing in the world.

Alfred stood, shocked and confused. Possibly contemplating if this was one of Bruce's bizarre attempts at humour.

"I-I'm sorry sir?" The butler finally choked out, still looking a Bruce with puzzlement. "I don't think I heard that properly, I mean it honestly sounded like you said-"

"-That I saw the Joker? Yeah. _That's because I did_."

Another tense silence followed, and as Alfred scanned Bruce's eyes, he only managed to find a frightening clarity.

"Y-you really _saw_ him, didn't you, Master Wayne?" Alfred whispered, finally putting down the rag and Windex he was occupying himself with before, to fully look at this self-proclaimed son.

"And… Did others see him? You know, _interact_ with him?" The old man cautiously asked, expecting the glare he received, but knowing it needed to be asked anyway.

"I'm not mad!" Bruce snapped. "Yes. Others intermingled him. In fact, at one very _memorable_ point in the night, he had the _whole fucking room_ wrapped around his little finger, ok?"

When his butler staggered back, not afraid, _never afraid of Bruce_, but slightly weary, Bruce realized he wasn't exactly helping his claims of sanity.

"I-I'm sorry Alfred, I-It was just like, well, seeing a ghost, and truth be told I'm terrified."

Alfred nodded mutely in sympathy, although in reality he understood a lot less than he wished he did.

When the familiar chime of the manors doorbell reverberated through the silent room, Bruce tensed.

"Were you expecting a guest?" Alfred uttered, looking down the hall in the direction of the entrance.

"He told he came back to protect me from an unknown evil force, which has taken hold of Gotham. He said he had proof. Then he kind of invited himself over."

"And you believed him?"

"No, But I want answers."

The doorbell sounded again, choppier and more impatient this time, like someone was mashing it repeatedly.

"You're playing a very dangerous game, Bruce." Alfred warned, alarmed for himself, his family and the Caped Crusader. "The people around you could get _hurt_."

"I know."

With that Bruce turned on his heel and went to answer the door himself.

Alfred, not feeling comfortable following Bruce, nor believing that Bruce would really want him to, apprehensively resumed cleaning, keeping an ear out, just in case things got physical.

Hearing Bruce's footsteps fade down the hall, he managed to take solace in the knowledge that the Robins were on patrol.

"Oh, so _that's_ why he let Tim and Damian patrol Gotham on their own." Alfred mused to himself, a figurative piece of the puzzle slipping into place.

With that revelation the old man breathed a sigh of relief, knowing Bruce did take precautionary measures to at least some degree, particularly with his sons. Alfred was glad, as he knew from experience that the other thugs and criminals on the street never did match the sadistic prowess of the Joker.

When Bruce answered the door, he was greeted with the sight of the Joker, casually leaning against the buzzer with his elbow, whilst casually examining his nails.

"_Joker_."

"Please, _Brucie- pie_, while I'm in my civilian garb, it's 'Jack'." The Joker coolly corrected, patting Bruce on the chest and pushing past, into the manor's hallway.

"What's in the satchel?" Bruce asked, gesturing to the purple messenger bag.

"Proof, like I promised." The Jester offhandedly replied, occupied by taking in the mansions lush interior.

After removing the bag he sat on the couch, reclining unconcernedly.

"It's pretty hushed in the ol' Wayne manor tonight. Past all the little birdies bed times already?"

Bruce scoffed; did he honestly think he would let him near his boys?

"That's because there not here. I sent them on patrol, away from _you_."

Upon hearing that the Joker finally looked at Batman, glowering at him like he had grown a second head.

"Y-you did what?" The clown spluttered, his face etched in worry. "I tell you there an unspeakable evil working in Gotham, and your first response is to just chuck you kids out there?"

The Joker Lurched towards Bruce, who tensed from the sudden movement, but soon calmed when he realised the Joker was holding him steadfast by the shoulders, glaring at the detective with a grimly stern stare.

"You need to tell me right now, how long has it been since you've talked to them? Bruce, please tell me you know where they are!"

When the Joker began to shake Bruce's shoulders for a reply, Batman swatted the smaller man away.

"I-I only wanted to keep them safe…away from you." Bruce muttered, his mouth feeling like someone has just stuffed a bone-dry cloth in it.

"As much as you wish I was still top dog Bats', I'm not. Those times are ancient history. I'm not who you need to worry about anymore, and right now I'd be trying to get into contact with those boys of yours, that is if they haven't 'disappeared' yet…"

Bruce however had already taken off, racing to the Bat-cave to try and contact Tim or Damian.


	4. Chapter 4

When the Joker reached the entrance to the Bat-cave, he could see that Batman was already inside, costume on and ready for action.

The grand computer in the center had been switched on, and its screen cast an eerie blue glow over everything in the cave, including Batman's unwavering stare as he intently watched the largest screen, which was currently streaming live footage from the streets nearby, undoubtedly hacked from local security cameras.

The recording alternated between cameras as it struggled to keep up with a small duo of superheros, which were flinging themselves across the city's skyline. They were certainly fast, but not as fast as the jester remembered. The Joker frowned as he realised the smaller Robin was injured, and struggled as the older one coaxed him along apologetically.

Batman was talking to them over the intercom, in a calmer tone than earlier.

But dread still laced his words, as he asked again and againfor them to keep talking if they could, and no mater what, _not_ to hang up.

Not comfortable with imposing, the Joker stood unwaveringly at the caves entrance, content with looking in.

He told himself it was because he didn't wish to interrupt Bruce, but he knew it had more to do with the fact that he shouldn't be here, plain and simple.

He had spent years loathing this man, and plotting what he would do when he found out his true identity. And, then, how he would abolish his ever so coveted Bat-cave. But now it all stood in front of him, and he felt only a hollow melancholy. He ached to be as free and naive as the Joker again.

But he knew he had no choice. The Joker was dead, or that's at least what everybody thought, including his captors, so if he was to ever don the purple suit again, it would be certain death.

They had gotten too clever, these mysterious men.

And he was terrified.

But of course he never showed it; after all, he needed to stay strong. He needed to convince Batman that they could beat this, even though in his mind, he was already and dead man walking. Luck and cowardice can only keep you safe for so long.

They might have been rookies when they kidnapped him, hence why he managed to escape, but they had only been going from strength to strength since that day, and now, regrettably, these thugs had grown into a nearly unstoppable force.

He had never felt so helpless, and although he felt immoral for putting Batman and his family in so much danger, more so than he let on, he knew it was necessary.

If they didn't nip this organization in the bud now, it really would be too late.

The Joker must have been deep in contemplation, as he became startled when he heard a cold voice from behind.

"Please tell me this is some sort of sick joke."

Spinning around, The Joker was met with a disgruntled butler, who he immediately recognised from…past surprise rendezvous, occurring in the Wayne mansion.

Alfred held the satchel full of documents that the Joker had brought (and had carelessly left behind) in one hand, and a small tray of cucumber sandwiches in the other, with the crusts cut off.

"There for the boys_; when they return_." Alfred coldly stated, noticing that the Joker was eyeing the snacks of with deprivation.

Knowing that Pennyworth would have read little in that time span, the Joker remained stoic.

"There not lies." The jester snapped back, stealing one of the sandwiches off the tray and taking a bite.

"And I don't joke, not anymore."

Turning on his heel, he took his first proud steps into the Bat-cave.

He couldn't help but feel slightly boastful when about half way down, Batman noticed the Jokers presence and turned off the intercom. At first he was puzzled, but a quick glance at the main screen confirmed his suspicions.

Batman had sent his birds to another nest, and judging by the location, it was one of Batman's mini caves to the west.

The detective then beckoned to him to come over, perhaps to look at whatever was on one of the smaller screens.

Turning to the butler, who was just as clearly taken aback by Bruce being so trusting of the clown, gave the Joker a warning glare.

The Joker merrily ignored it, smiling as he snatched the satchel from the older man's grasp, and bounded down the last couple of steps, straight to batman's side.

Yeah, he had just as much right to be here as _anyone_ _else_.

That's what he always loved about Batman; there was a simple truth to him. He had always treated him like an equal-

"Explain to me why you think you're allowed in the privacy of my cave, and do it _now_, before I break both your legs." Bruce growled, not bothering to look away from the screen.

The Joker stood shocked for a moment, until a familiar rage began to bubble within him.

He was now remembering why he hated the man so much, with not quite as much fondness.

For as long as the Joker had known Batman, he had realized that the man had and unjust sense of riotousness, and no matter what, his decision was the one that always stuck. He had a grotesquely juvenile concept of wrong and right, and if something wasn't clearly back or white, he would be quite happy to use his fists it settle his dilemma instead.

He was a walking hypocrisy. What gave him the right, but no one else?

He was completely insane, but no one ever pulled him up, because they _needed_ him.

He was just a big bully, and even though he 'protected' Gotham, he did just as much damage to it as well. How much property had he destroyed, whist joyriding around in that ostentatious car of his and supposedly catching baddies?

"Because of _this,_ you pompous, grandiose git!" The Joker snarled, swinging the bag by its sling and slamming it into Batman's chest, satisfied with the loud smack it made.

His grin only widened when the Bat turned around, positively furious.

"_This_, I will go through later. " Batman snarled, throwing the bag to the ground and standing up, "But you need to get out, _now_!"

"Make me." The Joker unthinkingly retorted, most likely out of an enduring reflex, acquired from their rivalry all those years ago.

Apparently Bruce hadn't lost his ingrained response to the clowns' snarkiness either, because soon he was lurching toward him, no reservations as he reeled his fist back, ready to strike.

The Joker barely managed to avert it, but when he did, it left him completely susceptible to the punch that followed.

To say that the Joker was rusty would have been a gross understatement.

Kicks that mere years ago he would have dodged with a breathless grace were now narrowly avoided with a desperate scramble or, a tad more often that he wished, didn't manage to avoid at all, hitting him with the brutality of solid concrete, and left a ruthless sting that the Joker swore hurt a lot more than he remembered.

But he still had his born ability of tireless agility and stamina, and his intermediate fitness, so was able to sneak in a few jabs and reel at just the right moments to miss a couple of the great crime fighter's more tenacious blows.

Joker could tell Batman was trying to adapt to his own spastic style once more, too, which gave him some lucky shots.

He couldn't help but feel slight déjà vu as they scuffled and fell into sync with their unique little dance one more.

Now he only had to somehow manage to impale himself on his own dagger, preferably towards the end of the fight, and it'd be just like the first time they scrapped.

Alfred meanwhile, watched on in a hushed mortification, not daring to intervene and risk getting hit by either party's fierce blows.

He cringed as he watched the Joker jab a sharp elbow into Bruce's chest, scrambling out of the headlock the detective had him in minutes prior. The Joker was too slow however and batman was back on him before he could retreat, delivering a merciless kick across his torso. The wallop caused the jester to topple over and skid across the floor, abruptly stopping when he collided with a metal structural support beam.

For a second Batman wondered if he had been too rough, but after a brief pause the Joker was back on his feet. He was slightly shaken, but the wicked glimmer in his eye was still burning brightly.

The Dark Detective smirked.

Although he would never admit it, he was ecstatic.

Any anger he had previously had dissipated after the first blow, but something forced him to continue.

Even a rekindled Joker was better than the thugs he had faced recently, and he hadn't had fisticuffs this satisfying in years.

Every other rouge was predictable and drab, and he could never push them as rough and as long as he could the Joker.

The man just was impossible to keep down, and secretly, there was a large portion of him that always had cherished him for it.

The dance lasted a while longer, but eventually the rush wore off, and the Jokers legs turned to jelly; he couldn't physically go on. He waved his hands desperately for the detective to stop, as he slid down the support beam he had been slammed into earlier, to try and catch his breath.

Although the knight respected his wishes and ceased the barrage of punches, he was visibly displeased.

His breathing, like the Jokers, was ragged, but for a different reason.

Bruce stood over the clown, eyes dark and his hands balled into tight fists, which still twitched slightly from the adrenaline continuing to pump through his veins.

He itched to continue the fight, but he knew, although the clown was still _good_, he certainly was the expert he used to be.

Plus, Batman pondered that it would be wise to quit while he was ahead, or at least while he hadn't managed to break any bones in the Jokers body.

Bruce noted that sweat had begun to mingle with the makeup the Joker was wearing, which was streaky and had wiped off in patches during the scuffle, uncovering his bleached skin.

It was only then that Bruce began to feel a strong desire to see the clown without makeup.

He wanted to see his real face; his lush green hair and the familiar septic eyes that he had come to know, not this flawless sallow skin and these phony brown contacts, that seemed to try and convey a false sense of maturity and honesty.

Calming slightly, Bruce began to realise that although he had effortlessly recovered from the fight, the Joker, even though he wasn't grievously injured, still hadn't managed to settle.

The Joker had obviously maintained some base level of fitness, however it was clear to the Dark Knight that he hadn't come close to up keeping the sporadic lifestyle he led before, full of fistfights, violence and gratuitous amounts of running.

It was only when the clown fervently loosened his collar, and pooped a couple of buttons on his now sodden shirt, that Bruce realised he should most likely be helping him.

Turning back to the super computer and other gadgetry that resided in Bruce's small workspace, he flipped a large bottom compartment open, from what the Joker would have been fooled as just another section of the cave walls, thanks to the stone like texture on the door.

As the compartment gaped larger, and a soft yellow light was drifted front it, along with an icy vapour, he realised that the slot was just a gloried fridge, stocked with icepacks and chilled water.

The Joker couldn't help but scoff over how ludicrously overdone it was.

"Do need an icepack?" Bruce grunted bluntly, retrieving a chilled bottle of water for the Joker as he asked.

The Joker rolled his eyes and shot batman the most condescending look he could manage, but frowned as he realized he was just glaring at the back of Batman's cowl, so vocalized his patronizing mood instead.

"Sure! You don't happen to have one around six feet tall and three wide shoved in there, would you? You know, because _every inch of me hurts_ right now." The Joker whined, kicking a pebble in Batman's direction childishly.

Meanwhile, Alfred still was frozen in his spot at the top of the stairs, too overcome to move.

He hated how someone like the Joker, whose mind seemed to take to perversion and devastation far too easily, could still act so childlike and charming.

If there was one discernible trait he had to pick about the Joker that made him detest him, not just morally, but on a personal level, it was how he manipulated Batman so effortlessly.

Sure the reaction he sparked from the dark knight was usually blind rage, and then, inevitably, guilt, but it was still more than he expressed towards anyone else.

They weren't the healthiest emotions to display, but they were still valid.

The Joker made him _feel_, which was a feat in itself, and from Alfred's knowledge, no one after his parents death had effectively managed that.

This upset the old butler, because he had known and Bruce since the day he was born. When he was young, he had made Bruce packed lunches, took him to and from school and cared of him whenever his parents couldn't (which was probably a tad too often, but they had a business to run, and he knew that Bruce understood).

So it hurt him more than he could ever express when he witnessed Bruce's withdrawal after his parent's death, because not only did he know the Wayne's well and still to this day missed them immeasurably, but on that day, he felt he had lost Bruce to some extent too.

But, when Bruce Wayne found 'The Bat-man'- although it was an outlet he never outright encouraged - things became quite a lot better.

The training kept his mind and body stable and pre-occupied, and when he finally patrolled Gotham for the first time, he came back with a fifty foot smile plastered across his face (which actually looked rather amusing seeing as he was still in his suit and cowl), and he jovially told him of all the thugs he had interjected that night, and that he had even caught word of a drug rink, that he would later investigate.

They had talked all night, and for the briefest moment, it had felt like he had _his_ Bruce back.

But, a mere week in, the tragedy at the ace chemical plant occurred, and even to this day Alfred had never gotten the full story. Bruce had closed off once more, only he had never emerged again.

Because the Joker made damn well sure he didn't.

From very early on in his criminal career, the Joker had created a paradox, in which he was eventually able to coax batman into. It enabled the sadistic clown to blame Batman for every crime he committed, simply by driving the fact that if batman killed him, he wouldn't be around to do the awful things he did, to both Gotham and its people. At first he thought the Joker was suicidal, but it was only later that he had forced the whole truth out of Bruce.

The Joker had accounted for the possibly that batman would finally murder him too, by stating that if he killed him, Batman would be the monster he dedicated to fighting against.

So with that, Batman tortured himself over every act the Joker did, brandishing it to some extent as his own.

He didn't save the hostages because _Batman_ was too late.

That old lady was killed because _Batman_ wasn't fast enough on _his_ patrols.

The Joker exists, because Batman _failed_.

This eventually spilled over to other villains and foes too, and unfortunately now that's the way Bruce's psyche operated to this day, all thanks to the clown.

Shamefully though, he believed that Batman had an equally prolific impact on the clown.

He could see it even now, by the Jokers currently content gaze as Bruce sheepishly bandaged his grossly swollen ankle - the bizarre sight occurring mere feet away from him- that he valued Batman's attention more than any sum of cash or brimming beauty.

He knew that early on in the Clown Prince's career, before he and Batman had created their strange bond, that he often became absurdly jealous, and in turn, dangerous, when Bruce ignored him or his attempts to coax the Batman out to play.

Although he didn't like to think about it, they egged each other on, and even though he could tell that the Joker was aware of it to some extent, be was almost positive Bruce was oblivious.

Sighing, he placed the platter of snacks on the top step, realising by now that Bruce had clearly sent the boys somewhere else, and turned to head back into the manner, no longer being able to stomach what sat in front of him.

As he walked back down the hall, hesitantly resuming the chores, one thought continued to sneak back into his head, no matter how much he tried to bush it aside.

If nothing had changed between Batman and the Joker, what kind of force managed to stop either from any sort of communication for _six whole years_?

Alfred shuddered, shaking off the thought.

He'd leave that for the two… what were they now, acquaintances? Old friends? That were located downstairs, to try and figure out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, so I've had a few people ask me whether this is going to be slash or not, and the answer (even though it's not a very helpful) is that I'm not really sure. :P**

**No matter what it's definitely going to have innuendo, because lets face it, even in the comics they still flirt in there own twisted way.**

**But smut wise I'm not sure.**

**What do you guys want? Do you want smut? **

**Either way, I'm always happy to hear your input. :)**

* * *

When the Joker cracked an open bleary eye after what must have been an unintentional slumber, the disorientation hit him like a freight train.

The clown knew though, at one point in his life, he would have been all too familiar with the sensation of not knowing where he was.

As the Joker, it seemed the only time he slept was either from a large administration of sedating drugs (most of the time at the hands of Arkham's orderlies, but it wasn't exactly a secret that the Joker would sometimes drug himself, simply to rest his persistent body and equally as tenacious mind) or at the mercy of Batman's fists, where he would be bloodied into unconsciousness.

Sure, there had been some times he had bizarrely managed a good night's rest, or had simply collapsed from exhaustion regardless of place, but he only could count the times that had happened on one hand, and that was if the two phenomenon's were combined.

But that was when he was the Harlequin of Hate, the top dog of Gotham's seedy underbelly, and not the dull, timid Jack White, a budding middle aged tycoon.

He was more accustomed to falling asleep at his work desk these days than anything more glamorous, and up until this moment, he had though that he was content with that lifestyle.

But the familiar thrill that was quivering in his stomach as he realised he was still in the bat cave (and that last night hadn't been some wild dream, although he really shouldn't have felt that way, taking into account all of the planning that had led up to this moment) protested otherwise.

He missed his 'Joker' persona more than even he himself could fathom.

He missed all of his old games and schemes.

He craved for the the bloodshed, and the chaos that he used to cause, and quite frankly, no matter how juvenile it sounded, he would be more than happy to play the hero for a while, as long as he could smash a few skulls in along the way.

But most of all, he missed _Gotham_, and he had missed its cape-clad protector.

Blinking away the sleepy tears that blurred his vision, he looked around the cave with a tad more scrutiny.

To his surprise, Bruce was still were he last saw him, sitting at this work station, vigilantly scanning through the files that he had brought earlier.

The Joker smirked.

Well, he was a man of his word.

Yawning, the Joker lazily stretched his limbs, almost instantly regretted the action as the aches from the fight before began to re-emerge, concentrating itself mostly in his neck and right ankle.

Shakily standing up, he teetered unsteadily towards Bruce.

"Why didn't you wake me? Sleep makes everything hurt ten times worse than it did before." The pallid man whined as he went to rummage for a file in his bag, only for his hand to be sternly shoved away.

"I did. Twice." Bruce grunted back, pulling another folder out of the satchel and opening it. "Each time you told me hold all calls for the afternoon, and called me _Mary_. Who she by the way?"

The Jester chuckled.

"Mary? Oh, don't worry Bat's; _I haven't replaced you, dear_. She's my just receptionist. Sweet gal. So is her _girlfriend_-"

"-_Anyway_." Bruce interjected, realizing how paranoid he must have sound, and promptly wanting to change the subject. "After that, I gave up. I figured if you still have the sporadic sleeping patterns that you used to, perhaps it was for the best. After all, if you're to be any use to me, I need you to be well rested, and not liable to faint from exhaustion at any minute."

"That only happened once!" The Joker defensively snapped back.

"I think we both know it was more than that." Bruce bluntly replied.

Muttering an incoherent reply, the harlequin decided it would be best to leave Bats' alone when he was busy reading the files, and so resumed his sweeping gaze of the cave.

The silver tray attentively stacked with sandwiches still sat discarded on the top of the stairwell, meaning that the pesky butler hadn't come back and poked around while he was sleeping. For this he was glad.

Staring up, he could see the moons light still filtering strong through small fissures and cracks in the caves ceiling, which revealed that he really hadn't slept for all that long, as it was already close to sunrise when he had arrived.

Glaring at the ceiling, he absentmindedly rubbed his stiff neck.

"_All that pain for a couple minutes rest, just ridiculous_." He muttered under his breath, although his irritation was more towards the fact that he did need some substantial sleep, as he hadn't managed any for five days solid.

Continuing his listless examination of the caves walls, he realised that small holes were all over the caves surface.

One particularly large cavity gaped just above a waterfall, which audibly trickled far to his right, and as the light cascaded its blue gleam onto the shadowy dribbling water, he considered that if he wasn't a narcissistic sociopath with a prominent sadistic streak, he probably would have been in awe over its beauty. He did however ponder for a second why Bruce hadn't filled them in, as it wasn't exactly the most secure setup.

"There for the bats." Bruce's gravelly voice informed from behind.

The Jester turned around, perplexed.

"The holes. There're for the bats in the cave to enter and exit. Because I blocked the main entrance off that the small colony living here used formerly, I had to make a compromise."

The Jester let out a haughty laugh, his eyes suddenly brimming with a juvenile glee.

"You mean there are actually _bats_ in the _Bat_-cave? Real bats! How does that even work? Do they crap over everything like pigeons? God lord man, you really don't mess around!"

Bruce merely shook his head and sighed in response, not bothering to justify the Joker's childish behaviour with a reply.

It wasn't like the joker had stuck around for a response however, as by now he had run to the edge of the Bat-cave's boundaries, leaning unsteady against the sleek metal railing , and was occupied in trying to catch a glimpse of one of the supposed winged critters.

"They're out right now, if you're trying to find one." Bruce pontificated.

"Well when are they coming back?" The jester mumbled back, still leaning over the rail.

"They usually fly back in around sunrise. It's quite a sight." Bruce chuckled, whilst taking out another file from the rucksack resting at his feet.

The pallid man sighed, the reality of life pushing down on him once again.

"Shame. I'll be gone by then."

The detective looked at the taller man's turned back for a few seconds with a perplexed stare, before he realised what he Joker was referring to.

The clothing the clown was wearing (although casual) was close-fitting, and clearly was either altered, taken in or tailored to mimic his sleek frame. And Bruce knew that any of those options came cheap. Nor did he believe that the Joker would likely have the sewing experience to do it himself, in fact needlework was one of the few things the clown couldn't do, or at least showed no interest towards.

That meant he had enough cash to not only survive, but to look good too.

And since he apparently no longer participated in illegal activities, he could have to have a legitimate job.

Also, the fact that he was going to buy Selo-tech meant that he must have already been high ranking employer in another prosperous corporation, because (although the company's name was utterly slandered, it was still worth a pretty penny, and thus) it wouldn't be handed out to just any Joe blow to run.

Come to think of it, Joe blow wouldn't even have enough money to even put a down payment to buy the company in the first place.

Finally, the sleepy mutterings to his 'receptionist' painted a vivid picture of an office job, most likely pushing papers, from nine to five.

The idea of the clown doing something so mundane as a daily job almost amused Bruce, but at the same time it left a damper on his spirits, imagining someone who once was so bold and unrestrained now… doing _that_.

It made him want to sink his fist into these corrupt men that reduced the Clown Prince to this even more than before.

But quite clearly in order to do so he would have to work around the jesters new busy work schedule, as tomorrow- _well today now_, was Monday, and no doubt the clown was going to show up to work as per usual, so not to rouse any suspicion.

"You never did tell me where you worked." Bruce chimed in, snapping Jack out of his thoughts.

"Hrm? Oh, I'll have to show you- well _Bruce Wayne_- some time. After all, if we're going to work together it will be much easier under the ruse of business partners."

Bruce grunted his agreements, not knowing how to feel when the Joker pulled out his compact, and began to fix his make-up once again.

It was like with each stroke, the Joker became a little less perceptible, until he was successfully oppressed all together with a final finishing pat of the powder puff.

He knew that the Joker would just see this a some sort of acting role to test his prowess, just like he did all of his past persona's , but Bruce feared that he had been acting like Jack white for too long, and he could see that the pallid man had begun to believe his own lies.

This night had been a rude shock, which neither of them were prepared for.

"… I should go." Jack finally muttered, talking towards the stairs.

Bruce nodded, rising to his feet to walk jack out, only to stop abruptly when he realised that he was still in his costume.

Once the thinner man reached the top of the steps, he hesitantly turned around to look at Bruce once more.

"I know it's a lot to bite off, but try and get through those files as soon as possible, ok?"

With that the Joker turned around, disappearing down the hall.

And Bruce couldn't help but feel a bizarre emptiness in his absence.

A few minutes later the vacant space at the top of the stairs was refilled by a meek looking butler.

"Uh, _Bruce_, I think you should tell the boys what going on, there're probably starting to become quite confused as to why you've had them shoved away somewhere safe for the past couple of hours." Alfred stated quietly, in a tired, almost tense tone.

Bruce nodded, knowing that his caring butler wouldn't be able to sleep until he knew the boys were informed and everything was sorted.

As much as he wished he could just keep it between Alfred and him, he knew his faithful friend would never let him keep it that way. It would be one of those times that he would threaten to tell the boys if Bruce wouldn't do it himself, before solemnly sealing it with the truthful phrase he always used, that 'it is for your own good'.

It would put strain on relationships he had only just managed to patch up, but he knew it couldn't be put off any longer.

"I'll get on it Right away."


	6. Chapter 6

**Ok, so a couple of things:**

**1) Sorry this took so long! But unfortunately college is back in play, so I'm going to be focusing more on my essays than this ( but I will update when I can! I'm still very passionate for this story and where its heading :)**

**2) Thankyou for the amazing feedback :) It is really great to see where people sit with this story.**

**And seeing as you wonderful people took the time to write such brilliant reviews, I'll hake the time to answer them :D**

**Ok, so I'e decided NO smut Between Bats and Joker. Sex might be implied, But I agree that it might take away from the plot a tad too much. If no sex happens, it will just be a badass bromance :P**

**And To Stella Limegood, and your insightful review, I thank you so much! you gave me so many fresh ideas and inspirations. You actually reminded me about Harley, who I had regretfully forgotten, and I love you idea of them living together. I also love your comedic viewpoint because that's exactly how i think also :P (expect many of your ideas to pop up in my story later on ;D)**

**The only other thing I have to say it that a lot of characters form the DC universe are going to be mentioned. Expect to see Nightwing, Oracle, perhaps The Green Arrow and a couple of other superheros and supervillains. This story will probably not stay just in Gotham, but leak over to Bludhaven, Metropilis and star city.**

**Also, my characters and mindset are mostly form the 90's comics ( hence why, if you cant tell, Tim is my favorite robin ), and also because I am poor and can't afford the newer comics :P**

* * *

Damian sighed, flopping his head back onto the floor. He was sitting upside-down on a low slung, threadbare couch, with his legs propped up on the piece of furniture from the knees down, whilst his back was lying flat, hard on the cold cave floor.

It wasn't a comfortable position for the rest of his body, but it was the only angle he had found were his leg didn't hurt like hell.

He knew it wouldn't hurt this bad if Tim just given him stronger damn painkillers, but he refused to give anymore to him, stating that it would be 'dangerous for a young man his size.'

Yeah _sure_.

He knew he was just scared to give him anymore because in his mind he was a _kid_.

Well guess what? He may have been younger than him, but he had been raised by some of the best assassins and fighters in the world, and had the blood of the demon pulsing through his veins, so Damian considered that as a far argument of being able to have more than _three tablets_ of _aspirin_.

But Damian didn't want to argue.

It wasn't out of any respect or kindness, but they had only just cooled down from their last yelling match, and truth be told he was enjoying the silence

Not to mention he had no clue how much longer father planned on keeping him cooped up in this half-assed cave.

Glancing over at the clock once again, he couldn't head but feel slightly panicky.

Father had said over the phone he would call them again soon.

That exchange occurred almost two hours ago.

It was almost four in the morning now, and he really hoped he didn't have to go to school tomorrow, because he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since he had hobbled into this cave around eleven.

"What are you looking at, Satan spawn?" Tim spat from the other side of the sofa.

Damian let out a frustrated groan and supressed rolling his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, it seems even when I don't do anything I still manage to aggravate you, Drake."

"Well you were staring!" Red robin snapped back.

"I was looking at the clock! You know, the object I'm trying to look at but is currently being obscured by your unfortunately hideous face?"

Tim shrunk back in his seat, sucking in a breath.

"Oh."

After that the cave sunk back into another tense silence, with both boys silently praying that they would be home soon.

"I'm worried too, Damian." Tim finally whispered, trying to drown out his worries by watching the TV that was in front of the pair.

Damian turned to him, annoyed.

"I'm, _not_ worried." He countered.

"Of course you are, otherwise you wouldn't be so grumpy! Seriously, cut the whole 'cold blooded killer crap' with me Damian, I'm not in the mood."

"You're not in the _mood_? At least you can walk!"

"It's not that bad!"

"Yes it damn well its! But it wouldn't be if you just let me take some morphine-"

"For God's sake Damian, I _swear_ if you're not going to shut up about that I'm gonna' make it a hell of a lot worse for you!" Tim screeched, leaping over to Damian's side of the couch and suspending a balled fist above the younger boy's injured leg, threatening to strike the appendage.

When the younger Robin's eyes silently widened in genuine fear Tim reeled back, feeling slightly sick about his own actions.

The shame swelled even larger when his smaller comrade didn't respond with any snarky comeback, instead deciding to bitterly glare at the television.

"I'll try and see if I can into contact with Bruce again." Tim sheepishly muttered, rising out of his seat and heading toward the more humble computer situated in the mini Bat-cave.

"You do that." Damian bitterly replied.

Tim cringed; he had really crossed the line this time.

Whist the older robin fiddled the dusty, out-dated intercom for a while, clearly trying to refresh his memory on how to operate its controls, Damian brooded.

If being crammed in a cave wasn't enough to dampen his spirits, the knowledge that this was one of Bruce oldest, most low-tech caves out there really added insult to injury.

But his father had sternly insisted that they were to head to the _nearest_ cave, even if the cave that was second closest happened to be the one underneath the Wayne Foundation Building, which was far more equipped, and was often used as a hang out pad amongst Robin's because of it lush interior and arcade.

Damian pouted at the image of him playing video games and eating gratuitous amounts of sugary snacks. He knew neither of those things would technically ease the pain in his leg, but they would help alleviate his boredom right now.

He was snapped out of his trail of though however when he heard a familiar chime from the caves computer, one that signalised at least that Tim had gotten through to Bruce.

After some hushed muttering between Bruce and Tim, Damian couldn't stand not knowing any longer, and shakily slipped his leg off the couch.

Ignoring the spiking pain that shot though his limb as he rose, Damian hastily hobbled over to join Tim.

"-Then I'll explain everything." Damian heard his father's grainy voice buzz through the intercom. "Make sure to quick in your return, you're still not safe."

With that Tim muttered his understanding and hung up.

Letting out a weary sigh, Tim turned to the smaller man beside him.

"Well, we can finally go back." He clarified, grabbing his cowl and pulling the slick Kevlar over his head.

Damian huffed.

"I'm not finding any comfort in your tone, Drake."

Tim let out a bitter chuckle, already heading towards the cave exit. He knew there was no point in offering the younger vigilante a hand; he would only become insulted.

"Yeah, well, I didn't find much comfort in Bruce's tone either. He said he has something to tell us. That's _never_ good."

With that the Red robin took his first steps back outside, back into Gotham city.

Damian hesitated for a second, before attentively trailing behind.

Bruce still sat at his Bat-computer, pondering what to tell the boys. This was especially hard, seeing as he knew very little himself. Letting another exasperated yawn slip out, he made a mental checklist of what and what not to tell the boys.

Well, most obviously he'd have to tell them that the Joker was in fact, _not dead_.

He'd have to tell them that the Jokers disappearance was foul play, and that the Joker was in hiding from these mysterious people.

He'd leave out the bit here the Joker told him he was here to help him stop them, or the part where Bruce had basically agreed.

He would defiantly leave out the part where the Joker was currently just boring old Jack white, who was planning to by Selo-tech and go into business with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce nodded, sipping the cold coffee that sat on the desk beside him, hoping that it might help keep him awake for just a bit longer.

If he made the Joker look like the victim (which he technically was) and still gave the perception that he was in control (even though he felt like the Joker's whipping boy more than anything else right now, epically with the knowledge that he hadn't even questioned the legitimacy of his proof once), he should be able to handle the backlash.

With one more steady breath, he finally heard the sound he had been waiting for all night'; the soft scurry of two Robin's landing in the cave.

"Father." Damian curtly snapped, determinately limping straight to the medical bay.

Getting the hint, Bruce stood up and walked over to his son's side, soon helping him in correcting the trauma caused to his leg.

Tim, not expecting any acknowledgements from the always distant Bruce Wayne, walked past the pair and quickly changed out of his red robin costume.

He then scrambled up the stairs, hoping to find some snacks awaiting him in the mansion above.

He wasn't however expecting for his wish to be granted quite so promptly, as he tripped over a tray of sandwiches as he sprinted up the flight of steps.

Stumbling (but quickly composing his balance once more, after all years of combat training weren't going to be thwarted by a steel tray) the young teen stared blankly at the platter, perplexed.

Alfred never left food out, ever. Let alone on the floor.

Something was definitely wrong.

Bruce did say he needed to tell them something.

Glancing over in Bruce's direction, he watched the man tend to his biological son's wounds with a steady but firm touch; noting that his mouth was shut tightly in a thin, straight line as he did so.

Tim sighed; he recognised that face from past experiences.

He had seen it for the first time when he had been pressured into becoming Robin, so hastily after Jason's death.

Back then Tim had felt it had been too soon to take up that status, and now, with the gift of hindsight, he knew that it was. But Bruce was so full of praise back then; saying the he would be the smartest robin to date, and that he _needed_ him.

Tim scoffed, a familiar resentment rising within him as he continued to watch Batman and Hell-Spawn-Jr in what could only be called mutual father-son bonding.

Well, he certainly wasn't needed _now_.

Picking up the shiny platter and haphazardly stacking back on some sandwiches that had slid off from the collision with his foot, he headed towards the kitchen, his thoughts trailing back to his first days as Robin.

Inexperience with both Bruce Wayne and the Caped Crusader meant that back then he had only just seen the tip of the emotional iceberg that Bruce was experiencing over Jason's death, but with the sheer amount of time the duo had spent together back then, it was inevitable that Tim picked up on Bruce's fragile psyche eventually.

But by the time he saw the signs the second time, he knew Bruce well enough by then, and had known exactly what he was looking at.

That black look was the face Bruce pulled when he was supressing untold guilt, and allowing it to bubble and corrode away at him.

Soon, if not confronted, he would start to recede from social roles as Bruce Wayne and spend more time as Batman.

Then, in extreme cases, would blatantly reject anyone close to him (which wasn't that many to begin with), and then sink into a deep depression.

He had only had seen Bruce reach the final stage twice in his time as Robin, however.

Once when Bruce Wayne was grieving over the death of Jason Todd, and the second time was Batman's breakdown after the disappearance of his arch nemesis, The Joker.

Tim scoffed as he nudged the door of the kitchen open with his shoulder and slipped inside.

Many times he had attempted to make sense of Bruce being so…_distraught_, over the Joker's death, and each time he had shoehorned it into the excuse that the Joker's case was an unsolved one, and nothing annoyed the Great Detective more than not knowing the truth.

But each time a small voice in his head, most likely his _intuition_ (which he liked to believe was a tad more fine-tuned than the average persons), always corrected him. The small voice always pondered how much time Bruce had _really_ spent fixating over the Joker and his heists before his demise, _and whether it was really as strange as it sounded, the proposition that through all of the brutishness and hostility, that they developed some sort of anomalous bond-_

Placing the tray on the marble bench with a careless clatter, he turned to head back to the cave.

"No way in hell am I going down that trail of thought again," Tim muttered to himself, shuddering in aversion, "It only leads down paths I really don't want to think about."

"What trails of thought, Master Drake?"

Spinning around, he saw the always statuesque figure of Alfred on the other side of the room, changed out of his three-piece suit and into a threadbare silk dressing gown, signalising that he had most likely been attempting to sleep before the boys had flown in.

The old butler was holding small glass of whiskey in one hand, which he idly swirled in small circles as he retrieved a couple of ice blocks from the fridge.

Although he already knew Alfred had a feebleness towards the occasional nightcap whenever a particularly stressful day rendered him unable to sleep, it still struck him as bizarre every time he saw it.

"Oh. Nothing, Alfred." Tim dismissed as he turned away, realizing he must have been gawking at Alfred casual appearance.

Alfred let out a bitter sigh, "… So he hasn't told you yet?"

Tim stood blank for a moment, before he remembered the call Bruce made and a spark of remembrance visibly lit in his eyes.

"That? No. I thought I'd…" Tim sheepishly pointed to the tray.

Before he could finish his sentence, dull thumps of someone nosily stomping down the hallway filled the air. Staring at each other with puzzlement, Tim and Alfred hastily filed out into the hallway to see what had happened, only to be met with the loud clunk of Damian's bedroom door being slammed shut.

Alfred let out another exasperated sigh, muttering something about 'how he could have bloody waited and told them both at once', before dejectedly walking over to the small breakfast bar back in the kitchen and beckoning Tim to join him.

"I was hoping Bruce would tell you this, but I'm guessing he just told Master Damian, and judging by the negative reaction elicited from the young man I doubt he will be in the mood to repeat himself."

Indecisive, Tim took one more glance toward Damian's bedroom before surrendering with a deflated sigh and walking over to Alfred, deciding that he would deal with Damian's temper later, and what Alfred had to tell him was more important.

As he sat down he was surprised as Alfred thrust his drink in his direction, coaxing him to take a sip.

Tim looked at the drink in mild bemusement, before looking back to Alfred.

The only other time anything remotely like this had happened was just a few days after he had moved into the manor, and he had found out Alfred's drinking habits for the first time. The Air had had and air of awkward professionalism about it as the two met in the hallway around midnight, clad in slippers and pyjamas.

Both of them still barley knew each other back then, and were only just beyond pleasantries. Tim couldn't remember exactly how it transpired, but he had gotten bold and had casually commented that he had always been curious about what alcohol actually tasted like, but had never tried because he really didn't desire the intoxication it caused ( he was quite prudish back then, especially for a 16 year old).

The butler had offered a warm laugh and had commented that in that case, Tim was wiser than most adults, most likely including himself.

He had then offered Tim a sip of his own drink (which happened to be watered down absinthe on that particular occasion, much to his later awe), commenting how just one sip wouldn't hurt.

He had sheepishly accepted it and taken a cautious taste, caught off guard by the overpowering spirit.

After some undignified spluttering he had handed the drink back, with both men laughing over the newest Robins reaction.

That moment had successfully broken the ice between the pair, and Tim now days considered Alfred to be one of his most trusted friends, much like everyone else who had gotten to know the butler personally.

"Wow, Is it really that bad that you gonna' have to liquor me up first?" Tim teased, his smile fading as the old butler's face remained grim.

"I think you're going to need it more than I, Master Timothy." Alfred simply stated. "Oh, and of course this little nightcap would remain strictly between you and I." He added, a weak yet reassuring smile finally gracing his weathered face.

Coyly the younger man clasped the drink in his hands, before taking a steady sip, cringing slightly at the burning sensation as the strong spirit slipped down his throat.

Deciding one more gulp for courage he finally place the glass down, his attentions returning to the sallow looking butler beside him.

"So, what's the problem?"

Realising he couldn't stall any more, Alfred solemnly began.

"Well, It is more of a _who_, Master Drake. When Bruce attended the Charity Ball this afternoon, he… came across an old acquaintance. One he thought he would never see again."

With that Tim could feel his mind reel as to who it could be. For some reason his mind settled on Ra's al Ghul or his daughter, (perhaps they were back for Damian?), simply because of their habit of dying and repeatedly coming back to life. But the whole ball thing didn't seem their style.

"He, that man, well, he's someone you know very well, for all the wrong reasons. But Bruce desperately tried to tell me that he's changed, and harmless, at least for the time being." Alfred rambled, trying to soften the blow.

Tim sat perplexed. _'It really sounds like Ra's_,' he thought to himself, but something felt wrong about that answer.

"It's the Joker." Alfred frankly stated. "He's _not_ dead."

Alfred patiently waited in the silence that followed, allowing Tim to process what he heard.

"_Jesus Christ_." Tim finally whispered to himself, suddenly very glad he was already seated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ok! Finally, another chapter is up. I hope you guys enjoy it. Also, I know it isn't very Joker/Batman 'centric like my other chapters were, but bare with me :P**

**And again, reviews are always very much appreciated, no matter what they may entail!**

* * *

Dick sighed, taking the last extra sweet mouthful of the coffee that dwindled in the very bottom of his thermos, before chucking the flask gracelessly onto the back seat.

His police car was sitting idly on the streets curb, like it had for the past couple of hours.

When he told people that he was a cop, they often conjured up images of intense crime busts and shiny cars dramatically bowling through cardboard boxes as they raced valiantly after baddies, but the truth was far more tedious.

He was currently on night watch, apparently sent off on a rumour that there was a slight chance that someone was planning an attack on a house a little further down the street tonight.

The owners had two small children, a six year old girl and three year old boy, and they had pleaded cops to keep them safe.

Naturally, knowing of the soft spot he had for kids, The Chief Inspector had palmed it off onto him.

He knew just the sight of a cop car pulled up nearby would most likely be enough to deter the small time thugs, so he recognized there was actually a very slim chance that any confrontation would occur tonight.

His suspicions had clearly rung true, because now he could begin to see the violet glow of a sunrise forming above the rooftops of the skyline in the distance, signalising that yet another night was coming to a close.

His shift was nearly over.

"_Brilliant_." Richard contently hummed to himself, retrieving some crisps and chocolate milk he had stored in the glove box earlier.

Propping his feet up on the dash, the young man reclined in his seat, causing the plush car seat to squeak under the unusual position.

Right know he was going a pretty fine job of perpetuating the other stereotype cops had, the one where they were all donut eating pigs.

But he didn't care.

After all, his new job as a police officer could be very overwhelming at times.

That, piled on top of his pre-existing role of vigilante, he felt that sometimes weeks could pass without him being able to get a little time for himself.

Dick scoffed, stabbing his milk container with its straw before vindictively taking a sip.

Bruce Wayne may have been able to fake a smile all day and still run like a robot as Batman the following night, But Dick Grayson needed a little me-time every now and again to operate at his full capacity, and he doubted that would change any time soon.

Anyway, he had always had a suspicion that if he ever ran at the capacity that Bruce did, he would either run himself into the ground or go completely insane.

In his mind, although he would obviously never admit it, he considered that Bruce had achieved both, on multiple occasions.

Shaking his head with a weary sigh, Dick tried to pull himself out of those kinds of negative thoughts.

"Jesus, when did my '_alone-time'_ turn into '_panic-over-Bruce's-mental-and-physical-health-time'_?" He chuckled to himself, although his laughter wrung hollow and desperate in his own ears

He couldn't lie to himself, he was worried.

Obviously, there was always a small part of him that constantly fretted for Bruce, Just like there was for Damian and the rest of his loved ones, but lately it had taken over his psyche completely, and today it was currently at its peak.

And it wasn't as if that was just by chance. He knew what day it was – well, _had been_, he corrected, looking at the growing sunrise.

Six years ago, most likely around this exact time of morning yesterday, the orderlies of Arkham would have opened the door to the Jokers cell, and found out that he was _gone_. Disappeared sometime during the night.

No traces of an escape, no body, _nothing_.

Of course he couldn't have cared less about the Joker, but he knew Bruce's opinion on the clown would differ slightly.

To him the Jester was an obsession, an unsolved case that he had never gotten any closer to unravelling.

To counter him, Batman was always striving to be _better_. If he was beaten by the man in a game of wits, he'd train and become smarter. If it was a test of agility that the prankster outran him in, he would work on his deftness and become just as fast. The man constantly pushed Bruce to his limits, all whilst seeming to have no boundaries of his own.

The clown prince seemed to be able to match Batman every time, and sometimes even push a little more, just to keep the detective on his toes.

The Joker had been Batman's muse, albeit a very grim and brutal one.

And when he disappeared, the hole that he had left in Batman's life was a cavernous and prominent one.

In fact, it wouldn't be too obscene to say that when the Joker had passed, it left a gaping hole in _Gotham_.

There were many unforeseen consequences that came with the Ace of Knaves death, including a sudden scurry for power amongst all of the remaining criminals and rouges in Gotham.

The Joker had always been top dog (and if Dick remembered correctly, no one since had been able to defeat his streak of staying on top of Gotham's most wanted list for three years running) and now he was gone, everybody wanted to rise up, and to take his place.

That struggle for power was still prominent; although it was slowly becoming evident (hesitantly for most) that no-one could ever take his place.

It wasn't that no one matched him, in fact many had.

_They Had_.

All who had achieved his status had never remained there for long, for one reason or another.

The first to boldly claim that they were replacing the Clown Prince was Carmine "The Roman" Falcone. He had made the audacious claim that the Joker's death was a sign that the times were changing, and that costumed villains were a dying breed, soon to be replaced by the mafia. He believed that only he had the right to lead Gotham's criminal underbelly.

That naturally hadn't sat well with the 'costumed villains', and just a few weeks after sitting on top of the Criminal hierarchy of Gotham, the Falcone was found dead in a local park.

Reports stated that he had been dosed with enough fear gas to put twenty men into a deep coma, and that half of his body had been unceremoniously drenched in nitric acid. A mind control chip was also found behind his ear, and the whole spectacle of his mauled corpse (the cops had stated to the press that the bite marks had been caused by feral dogs, but it was obvious to Dick that it had most likely been Harley's 'babies') had been held up high on a knot of twisted, poisonous vines, like some sort of plant pedestal.

After that the frenzy considerably quieted down.

Many had begun to realize that although the Joker had been the 'best', a lot of Batman's Rouges Gallery followed a _very_ close second.

And the only reason they had stayed second is because they liked it that way. All experienced villains that had seen the Joker in action knew the repercussions of his rank, and thus never desired that sort of power.

Most had their own personal motives and schemes, and although relished being feared, never liked it to that level.

But of course that didn't stop everyone.

Some uprising Criminals had made it to a certain point, but as soon as rumours that the poor shmuck might be the next clown prince circulated, they were always bumped off by another jealous or vengeful thug.

Richard remembered that there had even been one man, a brothel owner and budding entrepreneur of all things, which had managed at one point to have Gotham wrapped round his little finger.

However, the most eerie thing had been the man's appearance.

He was tall and slim, with broad shoulders and sharp features. He had also clothed in eloquent and rather effeminate colour schemes, usually in the form of royal blues and burgundy's.

He had a silver tongue, and even better he had had the fighting ability to back his snide remarks up.

Except his features were arranged in an less imposing way than the Jokers had been, and thus people had often called in a more handsome version on the Harlequin of Hate.

He was clever in the way that he had worked his way up slowly, and had earned many favour's along the way.

Bruce had even begun to fixate on him, much like he had the Joker.

But in the end, he had snapped.

His bold pride had been nothing but an act, and he found it all too much.

A little over a year later, he had been found dead in the back room of one of his cherished brothels.

With a bullet shot through the roof of his mouth and the gun still clasped in his cold, clammy hands, Batman had found no signs of foul play, although narcotics were present in his system.

He had however found a suicide note, referencing the Joker multiple times in the present tense, as if he was still alive.

Dick shook his head.

"Poor soul must have been losing his marbles from the stress of it all." He muttered solemnly to himself.

Starting the car up with a hearty rev, Dick began to make the short drive back to his flat, which was only a couple of blocks away.

He had managed to get about half way there, when his phone began to ring.

Normally at this time of night he would have called back, but after a few minutes, he realized the person on the end of the line had no intentions on hanging up.

Dick knew few people who were that tenacious, and so wasn't surprised that when he pulled over and checked the device, that Damian's expectant name softly glowed on the screen.

Without even thinking he answered the device.

His ears were greeted by the sound of bitter sobs from the other line.

"Dami? You there?" Dick asked cautiously, his heart tightening at the sounds the phone was emitting.

"He-he's back." Damian finally managed with a scathing huff. "He's back! Like nothing happened… how… _how_?"

Dick heard some more scuffling of sheets as they brushed across the phone, accompanied by some involuntary snuffling.

He was clearly sulking underneath the blankets of his bed, like he always did when throwing a tantrum. Dick let a small smirk grace his face. He probably just had a scuffle with Bruce, nothing to worry about.

"It's ok, just calm down. Who's back?" He cooed to the frenzied boy on the other line, feeling a tad more confident.

"No, Grayson, I'm not going to tell you. _You_ can come over here and here it from my father's mouth, just like I did! You can endure as he dribbles on about the prick like there old friends, like, like he has fucking _Stockholm syndrome_ or something. Then you can _tell_ him! Tell him how insane he is for believing any of this sick _bastard's_ lies!"

Even before he heard the sound of Damian standing up he knew what the young boy had in mind. No doubt Bruce was just as revved up as Damian was right now, and anything he could do to interject or distract them he would do, _happily_.

"Look Damian. _Look_! Please don't hang up, _ok_? Just keep talking to me."

When there was no answer, Richard pushed further.

"You know confronting Bruce again will only make things worse. Just talk to me, please?"

"He… why? I just don't…" Damian let out an exhausted huff and flopped back onto the bed, frustrated that the words wouldn't come out correctly. "Why would he trust a man that has hurt him so blindly? And why does he _hate_ _me_-"

"_He doesn't hate you, Dami_." Dick sternly asserted.

"-Then why the fuck would he choose the words of a killer over that of his owns sons?" Damian meekly sobbed, and Dick was sure he had never heard Damian's voice sound so young and guileless before.

He had said 'sons', Did that mean that Tim was involved too? Was he just as mad with Bruce as Damian was? He'd have to call and check up on the young genius as soon as he has lulled Damian into a calmer state.

"Who? What killer?" Dick questioned.

When there was no reply he let out a wary sigh.

"Please, at least tell me you're safe."

"Father assured us we are, but I'm hardly going to trust his word. He's gone mad, Grayson. _Mad_."

To that he wasn't sure how to reply.

He was starting to pick up that unlike most early morning phone calls that he had received from the newest Robin, Bruce wasn't the main reason that he was calling him this time. There was a mysterious third party involved, and one that made him feel uneasy.

Were they in danger?

He had figured out by now that he wouldn't allow himself to stay in Bludhaven any longer. He needed to be there with them.

"I'm going back to my flat right now, ok? But only for a little while. I'll pack some clothes, and make some calls to see if I can get tomorrow off. Then I'm going to come _straight_ to the manor. I'll be there in three hours, _max_."

He waited over the seemingly dead line for a while, and was eventually rewarded with a grumble of conformation, one that signalized that the young man had actually _heard _at all.

"Good then…. Uh, are you ok? Is it ok if I hang up?"

Another grumble was the response, even less legible than the last time.

"I don't mind either way." Dick attentively added, worried at Damian's silence.

"I'm… _tired_. I took some sleeping pills… I think there finally kicking in. But… Can you keep talking?" Damian finally slurred, more so into his sheets than the phones speaker.

Hesitantly, Dick began to tell Damian of his day. It hadn't been all that interesting, but the adult vigilante suspected that was why by the time he had reached his flat, the steady breaths on the other line showed that Damian had fallen asleep. After listening to his younger brothers breathing for a while, he felt confident enough to hang up.

The time spent in his flat was sparse, as he always had a small stash of clothes (which included his Nightwing garb) in a backpack under his bed for whenever he was needed elsewhere. After packing some cash and a few supplies for the road, all whilst having a tense conversation over the phone with his boss, he was off.

Abruptly hanging up on his boss whist muttering insincere apologies, he wasted no time on dialling another number and hooking the mobile to the wireless system in the squad car.

Buckling himself in and starting the car, Dick tensely listened to the rhythmic ringing that his phone made as he waited for the person on the other side to pick up.

"Hrn, Dick? What do you want?" Tim groggily grumbled.

"Geez, love too Timmy." Dick teased back.

Waking up a little more, Tim became more conscious of his previous brusqueness.

"Oh, err I did mean to sound so blunt-"

"Don't worry about it," Dick chuckled.

"So... why you calling?" Tim finally questioned.

Dick could tell by the younger's tone that he was aware exactly why Dick was calling, but he most likely wanted to gauge how much the other already knew of the situation.

"Damian called me." Dick sighed "He was so wound up he wouldn't tell me anything. But I know something's up. Please, I just need to know what's going on."

Dick pretended not to hear the exhale of frustration that Tim made.

"Look, Bruce… He's, he has a lot on his plate right now." Tim stated.

Dick scoffed.

He knew what that really meant.

It meant that he wasn't welcome, nor wanted in their little bat-bubble that Bruce had created over the last couple of months.

"So what else is new?" Dick scoffed, with a bit more malice that intended.

"Look, Dick I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Tim backtracked, hearing the spite in the other male's voice.

"It's ok," Dick reconciled. "No point in shooting the messenger."

"I'm sorry, but he'd probably garrote me with this phone cord if I told you..." Tim jestingly muttered.

"Yeah, I know… "

A tense silence followed, but neither hung up.

"…But your still going to come anyway, right? Tim finally asked with a cautious optimism.

Dick let a hearty chuckle leave his lips.

"Going to come? Timmy, seriously, it's like you don't even _know me_."

"…Your already half way here, aren't you?" Tim proclaimed with a giddy smile.

"Well, I would say it's closer to a quarter 'cause of traffic, but basically yeah."

* * *

Bruce was laying bed, hands tucked lazily behind his head.

He had discarded the notion of sleep quite some time ago, but figured his body would at least appreciate the gesture of resting in a plush bed rather that the leather office chair located in the cold, damp Bat-cave.

He had snuck back up to the manor a few hours after telling Damian of the Jokers return, which had gone about as smooth as he had expected it to.

What he wasn't expecting however what Alfred's cold gaze boring into him as he snuck past the kitchen.

"I told him, _Master_ Bruce, so you don't have to." Alfred had bitterly stated, before becoming Bruce inside the kitchen for a drink.

They had shared a glass of brandy each in silence, but it wasn't a tense or awkward quiet.

It was a hush that held a mutual understanding.

The understanding that although Bruce had crossed Alfred Pennyworth's threshold at some point tonight, the man would still remain loyally at this side, as there were clearly bigger problems brewing on the horizon.

Bruce needed to concentrate on the Jokers return, and not fret over the guilt he held about his faithful butler.

After the finishing off drinks they both receded back to their own rooms.

He knew that right now Alfred was probably lying in bed, just as restless as he was.

Come to think of it, the boys most likely weren't getting the best rest either.

Bruce then began to think back to the Joker.

What would he be doing right now?

Was he sitting at his work desk, investments and doubts filling his mind? Or would he be squatting in one of his old hideous, already trying on his old outfit, chuckling over Bruce's ignorance?

The Detective shook his head, doubting either of those possibilities.

The Clown wasn't who he once was, and that rendered all of his past deductions about the man's habits useless.

His thoughts were momentarily pushed aside when he heard his phone vibrate loudly against the darkly varnished wood of his bedside table, signalizing he had a text.

Picking it up, he cringed at the message.

_I'm coming home for a visit. Thought I should tell you XX -DG_

Letting his body flop stiffly back onto the bed, he pressed his sterile reply out roughly onto the keypad.

_You're not needed Dick. How did you even find out? -BW_

Bruce waited for the reply, although he had a fair idea what the answer would already be.

_A little birdy told me -DG_

Sighing, he tapped out his response, a tad less viciously this time. He couldn't stop Dick from visiting, he was a grown man with free will, and anyway, a small part of him was always happy to see his son.

_When can I expect your arrival? -BW_

He was answered by the echoing chime of the manors doorbell.

_Already here. -DG_

As Bruce dragged himself up of the bed to greet the young vigilante also, he received another text

_Hi : )-DG_

Looking up from the glow of his phone, Dick stood in the doorway, looking proud in his cop uniform and grinning ear to ear with that same contagious smile that he always wore.

Bruce smiled back, previous worries momentarily forgotten.

"You always were the only person he could sneak up on me." Bruce fondly commented.

"I dunno, I remember Superman did once-"Dick injected with a cheeky grin.

"He doesn't count" Bruce sternly shot back.


	8. Chapter 8

Begrudgingly the Clown Prince of Crime entered his apartment, closing the door softly behind him with a dulled thud as he did so. He watched with a mild disinterest as the lights blinked on above him and illuminated the room. Even though it was daytime, he knew the sun would be blocked by the skyscrapers surrounding until about six o'clock. He shrugged off his constricting work jacket and let it fall into a crumpled pile onto the floor, next to his neglected brief case.

His flat was a rather suave affair, thanks to some wise investments he had made early on, but by no means did he consider it a place he enjoyed coming back to every night.

The furniture was all shades of inoffensive beiges and creams, which complemented the pearlescent white floors and ceiling. It also had a breathtaking view of the city's skyline (from which you could see Crime Alley pretty clearly with binoculars, but he wouldn't ever admit to knowing about that).

The flat was practical and well planned.

It, although having a hefty price tag, was _modest_.

It made him _sick to his very core_.

He had always wanted to paint the walls in bright colours, perhaps a vivid red or purple, but the landlord constantly was against it.

'_It's modern and clean'_ his landowner had said, stroking his blond goatee pretentiously. "_Colour… It would just take away from the architecture, the sharp lines! You see?'_

No, he hadn't seen, but he'd nodded along with the ostentatious git anyway.

To him it looked like a hospital waiting room; it wasn't exactly unattractive, but the sheer…nothingness of it, showed that no one had really _lived_ there. All of its owners were all just passer-by's.

But it was with a self-loathing stubbornness that he had stayed in this 'home' anyway.

He told himself that this is where he lived now. That this is who he _was_.

But it was a hard charade to keep up, even for the 'Man of Many False Fronts', as he remembered the press dubbing him once.

The irony wasn't wasted on him, that his hardest role to play was one that a normal man wouldn't even struggle with.

But to him, the whole notion of going to work from nine to five and the coming home to the same place every night was atrocious, even after all these years.

And he _sweared_, that if he heard one more of his co-workers even mutter the words 'morning brunch', he would bring a tommy gun to work and mow down all of them in a hail of bullets.

But of course he wouldn't really, because he _couldn't_. So he just smiled and desolately tried to stomp down the anger that was steadily rising inside.

Meeting with Bruce once again had only made his melancholy worse, with the bittersweet reminder of what once was.

Loosening his tie, he slumped slobbishly into the sofa, wondering why the hell anyone would make an indoor couch out of hard, prickly wicker.

'_Oh right, because it looks good'_, he bitterly reminded himself '_and that all that matters.'_

Staring out into the city's glimmering streets full of busy taxis and neon signs, he couldn't help but feel a strong connection to his city at that moment.

The glitzy lights, the bold architecture, it was all an attempt to hide what Gotham really _was_.

Gotham was a scarred and weary soul after all these years, not unlike himself.

Mental illness flowed through this cities veins like the vibrant rivers of Lazarus that trickled below its citizens feet, and he knew that would never change.

But yet everyone pretended to make into something it wasn't, make it _superficial_.

They wanted to people love this city for its phony beauty and it was stigmatised if it ever showed its true colours, just like the Joker would be if anyone ever found out his true identity.

It made him mad to think that people assumed he hated Gotham, seeing all the crimes he had committed whilst in its confines. But they were wrong. It was the _people_ he hated. The truth was he most likely loved this broken city more that Batman himself. And there was one simple reason as to why.

Batman had a bold vision for a better, crime free Gotham. But the Joker loved this metropolis for exactly what it was.

This city was pure chaos, and he _embraced_ it.

Well, he _had_.

Sighing, the clown lazily rose back off his couch and drew the curtains down with a swift tug; he couldn't stand looking at one of his oldest friends right now, specially while he betrayed them like this.

Trudging over to the bathroom, he supposed that he should probably have a shower and wash his make-up off (after all, wearing it for too long wreaked havoc on his skin) but he began to dread this time of day more and more.

He hated looking at his old clown physique, for a number of reasons.

Some were obvious, but somewhere repercussions he wouldn't have predicted.

Like for one, he had spent so much time in his make-up, that when he mentally pictured himself, his brown hair and peach skin was what he envisioned.

And no one could imagine what it felt like to watch your skin rinse off and swirl down the drain as soon as it came into contact with water, only for it to be replaced with… _him_. The real him.

It had gotten to the point here he could feel his mind being pulled in two distinct directions, and neither of the options he wanted to choose.

As he stepped into the equally as sterile bathroom, the Joker began to fish out his contacts.

Taking out the left one, he dropped the small brown sphere into a cup of sanitiser, and began on the second.

He stopped as he caught his reflection in the mirror, however.

He couldn't help but sense a feeling of duality as he stared at himself.

One eye glared back at him in a shade of poisonous green, while one appeared dramatically more passive with its brown, almost black cornea.

Experimentally, he grabbed a wet face washer and dragged it along the contactless side of his face, feeling a grim satisfaction as browns and creams where scrubbed to a stark white.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, taking in the sight of the two distinct sides of his face, one in full civilian make-up whilst the other was all bare, exposing a vibrant green eyebrow and a portion of his crimson lips, but he only came to when he heard a knock on the door.

Nearly jumping out of his skin from the shock, he began the desperate scramble to put his make-up back on.

"_W-who is it?_" The Joker chimed loudly from the bathroom, as he still rushed to put his left contact back on.

"Uh, Jack? It's Michael. I have some rather… _important_ news." The man awkwardly shouted back through the door.

Letting out a bitter sigh, he rolled his eyes his colleague's familiar voice.

"_For God's sake Michael, what is it with you? It's almost as if you think of me as a friend!_" The Joker bitterly muttered to himself, discarding the previous worries of putting his make-up back on now he knew that the man on the other side of the door wasn't worth the effort. Hastily taking out his contacts and rubbing the remaining foundation off his face, he trudged across the living room.

Strolling up to the door, the Joker lazily lent his back against the hard wooden frame.

"_Well_, what is it?" He finally scalded to the businessman still out in the hall.

"Uhh… can't I come in and tell you?" Michael uneasily asked.

"No. Why would you need to, Michael? You can yell, can't you?" The Jester announced, tutting the man's question like he was a small child.

"I, well I just think I'd prefer talking to you rather than this _door_…" The man sheepishly added.

The Joker let out a harsh scoff.

"Believe me, If you could see me right now, you'd choose the _door_." The Joker grimly mumbled back.

After a brief silence, Michael was the first to talk.

"… Jack?"

The Joker sighed.

"Yes, Michael?"

"…Are… Are you _naked_?" Michael bashfully whispered back after a passing pause, causing the clown to roll his eyes.

"Yes. Yes I am in here, completely stark naked. _You got me_." The Joker sarcastically drawled back to the man through the door.

"Oh…_Oh_. Err, ok then, I think I'll stay out here." Michael resolutely agreed, clearly not picking up on the clowns mocking tone.

The Joker pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed over his co-worker's idiocy.

He could practically _hear_ the man blushing.

He'd been aware of Michaels crush on him for a while now, and although he usually found making the man uncomfortable quite amusing, today it just made his dark mood even more dismal.

"_Anyway_, you said you had important news?" The Joker bitterly reminded, trying to save this train wreck of a conversation.

"Huh? Oh yes!" Michael emoted; his mind focusing back to the reason he was here. "Someone else has taken over your bid to buy Selo-tech. Well, they _doubled_ it, actually."

Once the initial shock had faded, the Jester's brow furrowed into a grimace. There was only one man rich enough in Gotham to outbid him so radically.

"Bruce Wayne you _fucking backstabber_, and to think I _trusted_ you." He angry hissed though clenched teeth.

"Bruce Wayne? What? No, you've got it all wrong-"Michael boldly attempted to interject through the door.

"Got it all wrong have I? Well tell me this then, _Sherlock_, who else in Gotham has enough doe to fucking buy me out? Hrm?" The Joker screamed back at the door, seething with fury.

"Well, that's the thing… you weren't outbid by anyone in Gotham, Jack. It was a Metropolis company."

The Joker stopped in his tracks and spun around to face the door, perplexed.

"….Then _who_ was it?" he said cautiously, his anger being replaced with a prickling anxiety.

"It's Lexcorp, Jack. Fucking Lex Luthor himself is trying to buy you out the picture."

At that point anger was replaced with an emotion the Joker hadn't felt in years.

It was a kind of fury that was so intense it left you feeling numb, almost ethereal, and left white blotches in your vision, to the point that it nearly blinded you.

He remembered a time when this frame of mind was an almost legendary tale amongst the Joker's henchmen.

One time he overheard two of his muscle whispering about it outside his office.

"_If you ever screw the boss over, just remember, if he's laughing and making coffin puns, that's a __**good**__ thing. Means he's in a decent mood, and might even make your death quick a quick one. But if he is not even so much as smiling, geez, you've pissed him off to the point of __**sanity**__, and you never wanna' know what happens then. Let's just say, the Boss has __**mastered**__ the art of creating fates worse than death."_

"No. Not him. Not now." The Joker muttered to himself as he fanatically began to pace.

Here would be so many things that could go wrong if Lex came into the picture.

He knew that the man would be able see right through his disguise. He always had been able to pick the clown out, no matter what cunning ruse he had set up for himself.

Oh god.

What if he already knew?

What if he worked for these faceless men?

The Joker doubted that Lex would give up the chance to partake in one of the biggest cases of corruption in Gotham's history. Hell, he was probably already head poncho.

But then another fear popped into the clown's head.

Bruce would no doubt concentrate on trying to strong arm Lex and get his business out of Gotham, and would not concentrate on _him_.

He wouldn't concentrate on what was _important_.

The Joker pouted, feeling a familiar twisting sensation in his gut, that he would never admit to himself was a sickening mixture of jealously and a crippling over-protectiveness for _his_ Bat.

Bruce was _his_.

Everyone knew the consequences of even looking at his favourite toy, but Lex had never heeded his warnings.

That because he wasn't like the others, though.

The man could hold his own, not just up against the Bat, but also Supes.

He remembered that in retaliation once the Joker had gone up against Superman, with the expected results.

Lex had laughed in his face for that.

"_You honestly think you could do what I do, Clown?"_ Lex had mocked over the phone, a few days later. "_Your schemes look like child tantrums compared to mine, Joker. You have smarts, and you admittedly might know the human psyche better than me. But none of that is useful, because of a very big handicap. You're wrong about one thing. Your such coveted madness? It hinders more than helps you, no matter what you say."_

After that, Lex had tried to kill Bruce multiple times, just to show he _could_.

He knew that the Bat was his only weakness.

And as much as he hated it, Lex wasn't someone he could just wish away.

He was regretfully a formidable adversary. He was too good.

He could go toe to toe with Batman, and although with a bit more bluntness than the clown, step out the exact same dance.

It made him sick to think that.

Especially seeing that even though he had been driven into hiding, Lex had still been out there, growing stronger in every way. _For years_.

Hell, the whole game plan had probably changed by now.

And even though he knew it was the price had to pay for this so called independence, it was never fun knowing you've been left behind, _forgotten_.

The Joker couldn't even remember if he had ever even envied another man before in his life, but right now he would happily change places with Lex, if it just meant being _free_ again.

The Joker flopped against the wall, his rage slowly dissipating into a rising sense of self-loathing.

"… Are you ok, Jack?" Michael attentively inquired.

"_Leave_." Was all the Clown prince managed to croak out.

"But, Jack-"

"_Now_." The Joker dangerously growled.

Eventually Michael obliged, hesitantly leaving the man.

Hearing the soft echo of footsteps fade down the hall, the Joker eased slightly.

Now it was time to pass on the simply _wonderful_ news to Bruce.

OoOoOoO

"You can sit here if you like, Richard." Tim kindly suggested as he sat down on the couch, patting the cushion next to him.

"Piss off, Drake." Damian snapped from defensively, earning an eye roll from the older boy. "He wants to sit with me. Isn't that right, Grayson?"

Dick chuckled.

"You're forever the charmer, _Damian_. I'll tell you what, why don't I just sit in the middle? I'm sure there's enough room for all of us." He calmly stated, not particularly wanting to pick sides so soon.

Tim nodded with a patient smile. After all, it was the logical choice.

Damian however huffed in a childish manner, clearly not quite so keen on sharing. Eventually however, the young boy desolately flopped onto the other side of the couch.

As Dick casually wedged himself between the two boys, Alfred came in with drinks and biscuits in tow.

"Geez, Alf. Your going to let us eat cookies at this time of day? I'm in shock!"

Alfred replied with a quiet chuckle, placing the plate down in front of the three boys.

"Well, I do believe it's alright to bend the rules every once in a while, especially for a wonderful visit such as this, Master Grayson."

Dick beamed a heart-felt smile, suppressing the urge to jump up and hug the old butler again.

He just couldn't believe how much he had _missed_ everyone over the last couple of months.

Alfred returned the smile, although it was strained.

Truth be told Alfred was just cherishing the moments he had until Bruce came back from the Bat-cave with the Joker's files, and undoubtedly broke Dicks usual chipper mood with the grim news.

He could tell that the two robins were sharing his sentiment too, as they hadn't pulled Dick in different directions or tried to kill each-other over his attentions yet; in fact they were both still contently sitting silently at his side.

Taking one last look at the wonderfully picturesque scene in front of him, Pennyworth receded back to the kitchen to finish of the pile of dishes that still sat in the sink. If anything good had come of the whole fiasco, it would be that fact that for time in years he had managed to tend to the days chores before midday.

Of course the down side to that perk as that he hadn't had any sleep, and that was necessary to do a satisfactory job.

Dick was barely onto his third bite of the large oatmeal cookie he held in his hands when Bruce walked back in, a satchel draped over his shoulders and an unreadable expression on his face.

Clearly any initial joy of his visit had worn off for Bruce.

Dick sighed, realising his ignorance.

This wasn't Bruce, this was _Batman_.

Stiffly, the Detective sat down on the couch adjacent to the boys, and pushed the platter of biscuits on the coffee table aside to make room for the bag, which he dropped with a harrowing clunk.

Dick tensed as the rooms vibe considerably darkened, and almost gasped a Damian suddenly pulled himself from his loose embrace and ran up the stairs, out of his line of sight.

Perplexed, he looked to Bruce.

"He's already heard this speech before. I don't blame him for not wanting to hear it again."

Turning to his remaining brother, Dick looked at him with inquisition, half expecting Tim to run off too.

"I... well, _Alfred_ told me. I'd kinda like to know the whole story." Tim shrugged, purposely avoiding Batman's stare.

With an ever more baffled look the acrobat finally looked at the Caped Crusader again.

"Ok, you better tell me what it is that's going on _now_, so I can understand … all of _this_."

Nodding in silent agreement, Bruce opened the satchel and took out a folder, promptly closing the bag again when Dick leant in and tried to examine the rest of the documents held inside.

As Bruce opened the file carefully and began to take out some of its contents, he started to talk.

"There's really no easy way to break this new to you, Richard. And If I'm being frank, I'd rather not have to tell you at _all_. But now it is necessary, so I wont treat you like an outsider, or give you a watered-down lie."

Dick gave a courteous nod of understanding, but nothing more.

"_But,_ you have to promise me what I tell you doesn't leave this room. That means its not meant for anybody else's ears, _civilian or hero_. I don't care if you trust the person with your life, or their your closest friend. This is a family matter, and it is only to stay amongst family."

Bruce could see Dick's jawline tighten at that statement. He knew how much he hated hiding anything from his friends or other superheros.

But after another hesitant nod, Bruce felt sure enough and passed him the folder that he held in his hands.

Dick accepted it and placed on his lap, with care that you would an infant.

When Dick opened it, he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, seemingly wounded from the sight on the page.

The Jokers cold eyes beamed back at him in the form of a photograph, which was held steadfast to the page with a paper-clip.

"_Oh god, I should have fucking known._" He muttered to himself dejectedly, still not daring to open his eyes.

"He's _alive_, Dick. He came to me yesterday at the ball." Bruce added, with whatever attempts of sounding mournful or angered being completely eclipsed by his overwhelming awe.

"I...are you sure its him? After all this time? And if it is, why the hell isn't he back in Arkham or Blackgate? He's _dangerous_, Bruce. If he's back, people are in danger-"

"-There are bigger threats to worry about, Dick." Bruce bitterly interjected. "Like the people who drove the this man into hiding for _six long years_."

At this point Tim spoke up.

"Wait, he's in _hiding_?" Tim scoffed, not being able to imagine the clown hiding from anyone, "That really doesn't sound like his M.O."

"Well, then maybe that's because he's changed." Bruce delved into the bag and retrieved another file, this time handing it to Tim.

"He's lived a civilian life as Jack White for nearly five years now, and over this time he has made quite a name for himself as a budding businessman."

"Right, '_businessman_'." Dick jadedly mocked.

"He's been completely clean of any crime, Richard. If anything, he's gone out of his way to avoid it. His whole company is regularly checked for any signs of corruption. I'm shameful to say his policies are probably stricter than those in my own enterprise."

Bruce sighed.

"I'm not going to build him up and say that he changed out of good will, but the way these criminals work is through corruption and power., and he's made quite a stronghold for himself with in his own company."

"He sounds paranoid to me. Or perhaps _guilty_ of something. These people sound like the kind of people he would be apart of rather than hide from." Dick commented, still feeling bitter about the picture that Bruce was painting, in which the Joker was the victim.

"Well," Bruce announced, "that's where you're _wrong_. He was targeted because he was one of the few powerful men in Gotham at that time _couldn't_ be bought. That why six years ago, five men associated with these tyrants broke into the Jokers cell and threatened him with _my_ life."

A single questioning eyebrow shot up on the acrobats face.

"_Threatened him with your life_?"

"That's why at the scene there was no struggle or signs of a break in, he thought they had _you_." Tim gasped, surprised by there ingenuity.

"These people are smart. And they weren't even at there full pubescence back then."

"So I'm safe in assuming that it was only because of there intermediate nature six years ago that the Joker managed to fake his death?"

"I'm almost certain of that. If it happened now, he'd have no chance."

Dick scoffed, still not convinced. "Ok, so not guilty, but still paranoid."

Tim raised a finger pointed upwards in a thoughtful pose, declaring his opinion.

"- As much as I agree with your hesitance Richard, I think he _should_ be paranoid. Assuming that this mysterious group of people think he is dead, one would expect that they're not looking for him, but if he had any criminal ties, or snooping colleagues..."

"-They would very likely find him by chance." Dick sighed, hating Tims brilliant detective skills and seemingly clear head right now.

"Exactly." Tim muttered, going back to being absorbed in reading 'Jack White's' profile.

".. I read in one of the files that the Joker gave me that all criminal doings eventually make their way up to these people, from large scale robberies to the most minuscule mugging. They have eyes and ears all over the city, and these spies can come in any form. He needs to be completely clean to survive, and from what I know, _apart from some... lapses, _in the firstyear, he has been."

Dick smiled.

_There it is, a sign Mister Perfect hasn't been such an angel after all._

"Oh? And what did these 'lapses' entail, Bruce?"

"He killed two men." Bruce stated bluntly. "The first was an ex-henchmen who he had drunkenly revealed himself to in a moment of weakness, the second a homeless man who happened to squat nearby the flat he was staying in at that time."

"Why would be need to kill a homeless bum?" Tim asked, perplexed.

"He just wanted to _kill _something, Tim. Blood-lust like the Jokers doesn't just go away overnight." Dick grimly replied, knowing his answer was correct.

"But it did, _eventually_. I'm not sure at what point, but I don't think Jack does either. He thinks he's still the same person, but I can tell he's just trying to kid himself. He has the Jokers attitude, but he's not the same person. No-one could be after that long living a lie." Bruce almost woefully replied.

"Leading a normal life for six years also would have left him a little rusty in the fighting department. I doubt he'd even be able to retaliate if he wanted to."Tim offhandedly added.

Bruce grunted in agreement. "He's still good though. And a steady shooting hand like his never goes away. I don't want any of you underestimating him."

"How would you know that?" Tim cautiously asked.

"I...we had initial disagreements over the steps we would take in light of his return."

To that Dick wanted to break out into applause. Perhaps Bruce wasn't quite as mad as he thought.

"so...what steps did you settle on?"

"Well, to answer that, I should probably tell you more about these men that are after him. The Joker said it would be understating to call them a group or mob. They all work separately, but congregate sometimes if they need the others services.

"So there more a network." Tim piped in.

"Yes, a very intricate network, covering every class, industry and sector in Gotham. When their powers combine, these men are next to indestructible. They have no name, mostly because no one but the Joker and a few select other investigators have realised these people are tied in together, but apparently they use the the term, 'tyrants' when referring to other members."

"_Tyrants_." Tim echoed, trying the word on for size, "The term derives from the Latin word t_yrannus_, meaning "illegitimate ruler", and the Greek word τύραννος, meaning 'monarch'."

"Seems suiting, if the Joker is not lying about how powerful these men are."

"I'm almost certain he's not, unfortunately. That why he asked me to help him to stop them."

"And I'm guessing you agreed?"Tim distastefully concluded.

"I had to. I'm ashamed to say if the joker hadn't brought these tyrants to my attention, they might have eluded me until it was too late."

"Can't you just do it without him?" Dick shrugged, increasingly not enjoying the idea of Bruce and the clown working together.

"He'll try and stop these men with or without my help, Dick, I can see it in his eyes. He's desperate for revenge for what these men reduced him to. So, no. And also, as much as I dislike relying on a man once so chaotic, he has complied years of knowledge about these men, or at least the ones who brought him down. That kind of knowledge in invaluable."

Finished with the file, Tim passed it to Dick, which seemed less than keen to except it.

"Where _did_ you get all these files?" Tim asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer, if the purple velvet bag with green lining that they were being stored in was anything to go by.

"Joker. He gave to me as a peace offering, and a way to back up his claims."

Tim merely nodded in reply, whilst Dick scoffed.

"Then there all forged." Dick announced cynically.

"There not. Everything lines up in my database."

"But they still could-"

"Nothing gets in or out of that database, and I hand typed every file in there. The firewall and security systems are constantly updated, and the most current model that the Bat-computer is supporting was all created by the brilliant young man sitting next to you. So unless you don't have faith in Tims abilities..."

To this dick didn't even bother to reply.

There was no hope in hell he'd fall for this trap.

Not because he didn't want to, but because past experience had taught him that there was _never_ a correct reply.

So he just sank further back against the couch and crossed his arms, turning his face away from Bruce's.

Nope.

He was _allowed_ to be cynical of the Jokers methods, after all, the man was a _killer_. But he knew as soon as Batman started this passive aggressive manipulating crap, he knew that he would never win. But dragging Tim's constant need for Bruce's approval into play, especially so soon? That was a low blow, even for him.

But he wouldn't stumble into the argument that Bruce had set up, and was clearly itching to initiate in.

Dick new all to well that in situations like this, Batman loved conflict, and thanks to his brilliant knowledge of the human psyche, he always won.

It quenched his juvenile sense of right and wrong.

If he won the battle, it _must_ mean that he was right about everything.

"I'm going to check on Damian." Dick finally muttered as he rose from the couch, soon advancing up the stairs with a deliberately heavy footing.

The acrobat paused at the top however, turning around uncertainly.

He couldn't help it, it needed to be said.

If only for the one boy that wasn't around to say it for him.

Bruce _must_ have thought about it.

He _must_ have.

But... _had_ he?

"That man took my _brother_ from me." Dick proclaimed from the top of the stairwell, his voice an eerie but lucid calm as he tried to keep his emotions in check. " I loved Jason Todd like I would my own, Bruce. He was a misguided soul, but I know I could have shown him the right path, given _time_. And I will _never_ forgive that _Monster_, for taking away all these years I should have been spending with him. And teaching him. _Ever_."

"... _Richard. _Just d_on't._" Bruce growled back.

But the plea fell on deaf ears, as Dick had already silently slunk into the hall and out of sight.

Tim sighed, the familiar heaviness of being an outsider lining his stomach.

What he would give to know what type of person Jason Todd had been.

Really _know_.

Tim heard a muffled sniff come from Bruce's direction before the Crusader also stood up and slunk away, no doubt to the confines of his room, but the estranged middle Robin didn't dare look at him as he did so.

_There would be no fighting tonight in Wayne manor, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing._


	9. Chapter 9

**Wow, ok so It seriously has been way too long since I last updated. I wasn't aware it had been so long until Junkpunkie kindly reminded me. I think I will start making the chapters a tad shorter so I can get them out more frequently because what i usually do is white about 300 words at a time, and then leave it for long periods. so the following chapters might end in random spots, but they'll still be consistent. :)**

**Anyway with that being said here the latest chapter, and as I always assure, I have no plans in abandoning this story :)**

**And as always, reviews are welcomed and very muchly appreciated :P**

**Oh actually, one more thing. Are there any villains you love/hate that you either don't or do want to see in my story? I need a couple for a plot I'm thinking up later on, and I don't want to pick just the obvious ones.**

* * *

_Lex is back in Gotham, I need your help -J_

The Joker huffed in disapproval.

"Nope. Too blunt. And too _needy_." The sleepy man dismissed as he held the backspace key with his thumb, watching absent-mindedly as the text began to rewind, vanishing from the screen.

Eventually the soft tapping of a blackberry keypad filled hushed morning air once more, as the Joker tried again.

_So a six foot tall bat vigilante, a balding evil genius with a god-complex, and an undercover clown that's legally dead all walk into a board room to talk 'business'... -J_

The Joker smirked, but deleted it anyway.

His humor wouldn't be appreciated right now.

Letting out a frustrated groan he untangled himself from the web of blankets that he had cocooned himself into during his few scant hours of sleep, and sat upright against the headboard of his bed.

He then tried again.

_We need to talk. I've hit a roadblock in concerns to buying Selo-tech. Meet for lunch? -J_

The Joker pulled a hesitant face, before pressing send. It was too campy and plain for his liking, but it would have to do.

Now that was out of the way, the clown prince sprung from his bed, happy to face another day at work with one less worry.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o

Five hours.

That's how long he had been at work.

Bruce sighed.

It felt like it a lot more time should have passed.

Yet when he kept glancing at the clock, the black dials never seemed to budge.

When he left for work around four, the boys were all still in there beds (Richard had fallen asleep in Damian's room) and were most likely trying to catch up on some sorely lost rest.

But within a few hours of being at the Wayne enterprises building, he soon found himself wanting to be back home.

He had left problems unfinished in the manor, and the longer the sat behind his desk, the longer he found his thoughts drifting back to the past day or so.

The biggest thought that kept slipping back into mind was the boggling fact that the Joker was _alive_.

And at least for now, safe.

But the thing that got to Bruce the most was how sane he seemed.

Shaking his head, the billionaire tried to focus back on the folder in front of him, containing the statistics for this monthly quarter, and tried to figure how he lost that half million on... O_ffice stationary_? What?

Bruce sighed.

He had become too lax with his company the last couple of years.

Every sector now reeked of fraud.

Perhaps he should as Jack further about the measures he took with his company?

Sure 'Mr. White's' company was a far smaller and dabbled mainly in pharmaceuticals, but it was clear to him that a new system needed to be adopted.

Flopping back on is chair, the middle aged entrepreneur began to feel a familiar weight flop back onto his shoulders.

Bruce felt utterly imprisoned behind his large maple desk, barricaded in between the towers of paperwork that were stacked in the edges of his vision.

That why he was even more elated when he heard his phone buzz in his pocket.

Welcoming the distraction, he fished it out of his pocket almost immediately, instinctively swiping the touch screen to unlock it.

He faltered when the sent message was from a private number, but eased when he realised who it most likely was.

It was with a slight buzz of excitement that he realised his suspicions were correct.

_We need to talk. I've hit a roadblock in concerns to buying Selo-tech. Meet for lunch? -J_

Bruce frowned.

What kind of roadblock?

Glancing at his watch, he mulled over whether lunch was even an option.

Lunch was only a few minutes away, and his work was by no mean even close to being done.

Exchanging conflicting glances between the documents in front of him and the text message invitingly glowing on his phones screen, _between the dull duties of Bruce Wayne or the beaconing of Batman,_he seemedseemingly unable to decide.

"Well, I was going to ask Jack about his companies security anyway..." Bruce mused to himself, although he knew it was a pretty weak excuse.

Deciding that it was a lie he could kid himself into, he hastily shoved the files into his flashy black and gold leather briefcase, before jamming it shut.

Shrugging on the grey work coat previously shoehorned onto the back of his chair and standing up, he texted his reply as he raced out of the office with a hurried shuffle.

_Sure. Meet you at the cafe across the street from my work in five.-BW_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Bruce had already settled into a corner booth of the cosy coffee shop - taking inpatient sips of his scaling hot Black eye coffee every now and again- when Jack had walked in.

He didn't register the man entering at first, as his dark blue business suit and sharp haircut effectively made him blend in with all the other customers steadily trickling in and out of the shop.

But as he passed the personal space that a fellow customer would allow for and walked around Bruce to the other side of the booth, he realised who it was.

Jack laughed as Bruce's head suddenly shot up from his paper.

"Wow, did I just manage to sneak up on you? That has gotta be a first."

Bruce chuckled in return.

"I guess I'm used to a flashier entrance from you." He quipped back.

Jack just shrugged and sat down.

Bruce would see from his stiff posture that he had something he wanted to say.

"...you said that you'd hit a roadblock?" Bruce causally reminded, paving the way for the conversation that Jack clearly came here to engage in.

"Uhh, yeah. I don't know whether _you_ know yet or not... but I got outbid for Selo-tech. _Big time_." He stated calmly.

Bruce sat perplexed for a minute.

"But your bid was... _considerable_. Who would even be able to top that number? Who would want to?"

Bruce wasn't trying to sound snarky with that last statement, but in all honesty, if someone had that much money there were far better companies to invest in than Selo-tech. But, like anything that involved the Clown Prince of Crime, he could tell there were multiple layers to this story.

"Yeah, well, I'm not entirely sure why this person would be interested in this company anyway." Jack bitingly agreed, shifting in his seat.

The unease that the Joker displayed only fuelled Bruce's suspicions further.

"You know the person who outbid you? Usually they keep that sort of information confidential until its finalised."

To that Jack let out a frustrated sigh.

"It's _Lex_, Bruce. Lex Luthor outbid me." Jack let out a gruff chuckle over his utter misfortune.

The Joker didn't see any flashes of distress or worry show across the detectives face at that statement. Not that he was expecting that sort of reaction.

Bruce didn't say anything, and the only sign that he heard at all was a slight furrowing of his brow, most likely in contemplation.

"Why would Lex want Selo-tech? It is a pharmaceuticals company, which is Lex's forte, but it still doesn't make sense." Be mumbled into his hands, which were propped on his chin in contemplation. "Does he know its you?"

Jack shook his head.

"No. Not yet."

To that Bruce finally looked back up at his colleague, a baffled look plaguing his features.

"What? As soon as he lay eyes on me, I'm toast. He'll find out eventually, I can just sense it."

Bruce nodded in a grim and silent agreement.

As much as he disliked the thought of Lex finding out, he knew with a relentless reality that it would only take a photo of Jack for Lex to realise who he actually was.

The Joker had a very distinct face after all.

And if Jack in any way tried to retaliate over Lex's bid, that would no doubt happen.

And even now, he knew there was no hope in hell the Joker would ever back down.

"So... I'm guessing you need my help?" Bruce coyly asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the Jokers request.

"Even if this wasn't a company I had my eye on... Its still _Lex_, Bruce. He cant take hold of Gotham, you know that. All I'm asking is a partnership. You can have most of the shares, and I'll put my name on the line if it all goes belly up." Jack calmly argued.

Bruce took a sip of his coffee, but remained silent.

"...And In all honestly Bruce, he could be on _their_ side. Its the only reason I can see for Lexcorp doing so well right now."

Jack could see Bruce's face finally flash worry.

He clearly hadn't thought of that.

"I didn't want to tell you, but they originally asked me to me join in their twisted system. They offered me things I would have deemed unimaginable before they showed me, or simply unreal. I could have had it all, but eventually,_ admittedly after leading them on a bit_, I said no, and so they settled for killing me instead." Jack bitterly chuckled, tearing a bit of the bagel from Bruce's plate and taking a bite.

"Why didn't you didn't accept?"

"I might have, if I knew that they'd slaughter me for politely declining." Jack jested, 'But I never would have accepted. You know that, I know that. I already had all the power I desired back then. Why would I even want to be the leader of a bunch of corrupt losers like them? It would just be a burden."

Bruce scoffed. _Typical Joker_, he mused.

"But what if they just went to plan B after they bumped me off? Don't tell me for a second that Lex would decline that sort of power."

"I think he would have declined if he knew that _you_ were there first choice." Bruce smirked.

"Yeah, he always had a grudge against me." Jack nodded in a smug agreement, reaching his hand across the table to grab another shred of the other man's food. Bruce slapped his hand away, giving jack a bitter glare.

"What? You're not eating it."

Sighing, Bruce begrudgingly pushed his plate across the table, sliding the savoury treat next to Jack's drained coffee.

The other man needed no more prompts, and happily sat and ate.

In the interlude that followed, Bruce eventually managed to make up his mind.

A sinister sparkle glimmered in his eyes as he realised he could kill who birds with one stone.

"... Alright, I'll do it, _partner_. But only if you do something for me."

Swinging his briefcase up onto the table, he enjoyed the look of puzzlement of Jacks bagel-stuffed face as the leather casing landed with a indignant thud.

"I've become... rather _lax_ over the years with Wayne enterprises. For a while now I've been looking for someone to go over the company with a fine tooth comb, and whittle out corruption, but I haven't found enough men I trust to do the job properly."

Jack nodded with pride, knowing what the billionaire was implying.

"I'll get some of my finest men on it right away."

Bruce let his shoulders slump in conceit.

It was settled then.

Bruce Wayne and Jack White were business partners.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Unbeknown to them, as they shook hands in settlement, a woman shrouded in thick black shades spied on with interest from the far corner of the room.

She sipped her her warm latte as she inconspicuously looked on, seductive licking the foam that gathered on her top lip as the did so.

Usually when she decided to skip 'work' and follow her dark knight around a little, It was only a bland day consisting of business meetings and 'family time', perhaps with a bit of vigilantism thrown in for good measure.

But today she was glad her sporadic nature had lead her here today, as what she was overhearing was definitely no usual business transaction.

The man that Bruce was talking to had his back to her, but his tone sounded familiar.

The lanky man had a nasally drone that she couldn't quite place, but somehow...knew.

He had talked rather conservatively at first, but as he began to ease around the billionaire his voice had changed, and his voice had become more distinctive for it.

This made it clear to her that he was masking his real voice.

He had an accent, perhaps?

The woman took another sip.

All she knew for sure is that he was definitely hiding something.

As they muttered there goodbyes and stood up, the woman finally saw the mysterious man fully.

The first thing that struck her was how tall he was.

The second was how calm he seemed around someone so powerful.

Bruce Wayne wasn't someone to be scoffed at, after all.

"I'll see you later then, Jack," She heard Bruce conclude as he headed for the door, waving to this 'Jack' on his way out.

Jack only replied with a half-hearted wave, already focusing on taking Bruce's hefty briefcase and trying to find a comfortable way of carrying it along with his own.

She could see that Jack was struggling with the load, and so casually rose from her booth strolled over, waiting for the inevitable.

Eventually a loud tumbling slap filled the air as Jack could no longer keep up the juggling act, and both of the briefcases fell from his hands and slipped onto the floor.

Other patrons looked on with curiosity, and Jack began to feel uneasy over the unwanted attention.

The woman however was already silently by his side, helping him pick up some of the papers that had slid out.

Her eyes lazily gazed over some of the papers as she stuck them back into the briefcase.

When Jack turned to the woman his face sprung up visible shock, then twisted into hatred for the not so mysterious female in front of him.

The look of malice wasn't wasted on the lady, who sprung backwards, genuinely frightened.

"Those files are confidential, _ma'am_." Jack snapped, roughly tugging a folder from her grasp.

Some of the other customers whispered and gasped at Jacks suddenly rude behaviour, but he couldn't care the slightest. Truth be told it was taking all the self control he had not to give this 'kind lady' an uppercut.

"I was just trying to help-" The woman protested, feigning innocence, only to be cut off.

"-Well I don't need help from the likes of _you_. Leave _me_ alone, and Bruce too."

Glancing at his belongings once more, mostly to make sure she hadn't pick pocketed anything, Jack turned to leave.

As the stores doorbell cheerily chimed in the awkward silence that followed, the woman stood still in her spot.

Eventually a short blond woman, most likely once of the waiters, approached her with concern.

"Are you ok, miss?" The young lady tentatively asked.

To that Selina Kyle let a wicked grin cross her features, startling the waiter.

"_Why, of course." she assured, straightening her posture and turning to leave also. "why wouldn't I be? Things just got so much more interesting."_


	10. Chapter 10

**So clearly, the whole 'write a short chapter' thing really didn't work out like I planned. Anyway, this chapter still isn't to the place i wanted to end it at, but I think that if i don't post something now, the upcoming wave of schoolwork that is set to start next week will flood me and i wont get anything posted for while :/ **

**But here it is, and I assure you in the next chapter it will be a tad more centered around what Bruce and Jack are going to do to stop these people :D**

* * *

"_Who __**are**__ you, Mr. Jack Hamish white?_"

Luckily, it didn't take long to find the information necessary to answer that question.

Selina gazed intently into the blue glow of her computer screen, her fingers delicately dancing across the keys as she did so.

Thanks to a program that the Riddler had politely provided to her for free whilst they... had had _relations_, almost every file was within her reach with just a handy press of a button.

She inwardly praised the genius for his tech smarts, as file after file appeared appeared on the screen with ease, demolishing pass-codes and firewalls like they were nothing.

And just to think that this was the _prototype_.

Selina smirked to herself.

Maybe she should see if she could rekindle things with Eddie. After all, he always was so _sweet_ to her.

And if she did, she could probably get the latest model of this hacking program.

Her attention was cast back to her computer as the search concluded with a beep.

The system had scanned for everything on the man, from birth certificates to bank transactions, and overall it painted a very bland picture.

_Almost too bland._

Selina quirked an eyebrow.

According to the files, the man hadn't even so much as Jaywalked.

Not to mention that although his birth certificate was seemingly valid, Jack White hadn't really _existed_ until five years ago.

Since then though, the tycoon had been going from strength to strength, and how was the head of the once abandoned, but now up and coming pharmaceutical company, _Ace Chemicals_.

The cat burglar was admittedly surprised.

Why on earth would anyone resurrect that cursed company?

The whole name of Ace Chemicals was shrouded in stigma, because of the Joker's involvement.

She guessed that didn't matter anymore however, seeing that he was _dead_.

Bringing up a larger picture of the man, taken for a drivers licence three years ago, she gazed intensely at the picture, feeling a twinge of familiarity in the strangers face.

She knew that she recognised this man from somewhere.

The way he talked, his appearance... He was like a word hovering on the tip of her tongue, that she couldn't quite think of.

She scanned every inch of the man's face, as if it itself would offer her the answers she desired.

Giving up, she sighed and went to exit out of the picture, but stopped when she noticed something.

The man was wearing contacts.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

They must have been well made ones too, if they managed to trick her.

But the left contact had shifted slightly to one side in the picture, and had left a little crescent-shaped fleck of his real eye colour.

She probably wouldn't have even noticed it either, if the man's true pigment wasn't so intense.

The small glimpse of green was unmistakable, now that she had spotted it.

She knew as a fellow owner of green eyes that they were quite rare, and were usually a far duller shade that either she or him had.

They were something that would have made him distinctly recognisable, and that, in her mind, was definitely the reason why he was covering them up.

Opening the picture up in Photoshop, she attempted to colour in his brown eyes to their true shade of toxic green, to get a better idea of what he would really look like.

She cursed to herself as she pressed the wrong setting, and all of the brown pigment in the picture suddenly was filled with a dazzling green.

Selina gasped when she realised what she had done.

Praising herself for her terrible photo manipulations skills, she looked on in revelation at the man now in front of her.

His all of Jack's hair had been accidentally shaded the same colour as his now emerald eyes, as well as his eyebrows, and even the brownish coloured coat he as wearing at the time.

"You sly bastard. You're not dead, are you, _Joker?_ And after all these years, too!"

Shaking her head, the reality set in a little deeper.

The Joker was never dead.

_He was hiding._

But from what?

"What are you up to, clown? And what are you doing with Bruce?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was only with minor hesitance that Selina Kyle broke into Jack's flat the following dawn.

Before taking a few compromising pictures of his unasked and sleeping form ( that she could use a blackmail if the possibility arose), she clawed a short, but concise message on his living room wall.

Scratching the final full stop with a swipe of her taloned gloves, she stood back, admiring her work.

When she heard the bedroom door slowly creek open, and a groggy clown plod down the hall to the bathroom, she took that as her cue to leave.

Closing the window behind her, she took one final glance into Jack's apartment, then back-flipped off the ledge, into the rapidly dissolving night.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

When Jack sleepily sauntered into the lounge room, it didn't take him long to be brought out of his foggy daze.

Written in a variety of clean gashes and cuts engraved into the white plastic covering the far wall, was a message.

'STAY DEAD.'

He knew instantly who had taken it upon themselves to write the message, and the idea that Selina was pretending that she understood the gravity of the situation made him want to laugh.

"Don't mess with me, _kitty cat_, you know I won't bother sparing you when you suddenly know too much." He hissed, running his fingers over the engraved surface.

Frowning, he realised how this would look to his landlord.

No doubt the police would get involved, and he just couldn't have that.

Walking back over to the kitchen, he decided that some bitter coffee was in order first, then he would deal with this Catwoman shenanigans later.

After the monotonous preparation of coffee and eggs, he ate in silence, his eyes never leaving the ominous message on his wall, still visible from the kitchen.

Taking the final swig of his drink and throwing the cup roughly into the sink, he didn't even bother to look as he heard it miss and shatter behind him.

He grabbed his briefcase on the table and filled it with the files he needed for work, plus a few more nick-nicks and other curios he couldn't go without.

He knew the few items wouldn't be enough to rouse suspicion though.

It would look like a terrible accident.

In fact, with this old buildings outdated fire safety systems, he was surprised he hadn't been burnt to death in his sleep already.

Lighting a cigarette (even though he hadn't smoked for years) and taking a puff to get the embers inside glowing white, he walked over to a brown shag rug that he had always particularly hated.

Flinging the butt onto the carpet, he was surprised at how easily the cheap fibre caught fire.

Soon half of the living room was ablaze, and by the time he turned to take one last look at his melting apartment, the fire had already climbed up the curtains, and smoke filled the room in quilted black bellows.

Closing the door, he straightened his lapels and headed for the elevator.

_'Think of this as my reply to your petty threat, Cat-bitch.'_ Jack scornfully thought to himself as he neared the lift,' _I'm not going to be repressed any longer, especially not from the likes of you. Nothing in this fake life I've made means anything to me. And you're going to find out just how tired of games I really have become.'_

"Oh! Mr White. How lovely it is to see you. You're looking sharp in that burgundy shirt! Did you use bicarb soda on the spaghetti stain like I suggested?"

Slightly confused by the sweet voice maternally cooing behind him, he spun around to see Mrs. Foxtrot, that lived across the hall.

"Oh! How lovely to see you, Clarence! Err yes, yes I did. Worked a treat. So, how are the grandkids?" Jack merrily asked, genuinely happy to see the woman.

Clarence had earnt his respect many years ago, and had been a lifeline to him, especially when he first went into hiding.

He had faced many challenges with such dramatic change in lifestyle.

For once he had to find his own income, and make his way in the world.

And with his smarts and a couple of faked credentials, that had been simple enough.

But he still didn't have clue how to cook or clean. He didn't know how to do laundry or how to know if the pasta was boiled, or how to do his taxes either, for that matter.

Basically, Clarence had been his gateway into all things domestic.

"They're good." She nodded in reply. " Little Tom is turning eight in three weeks time!"

"_Gosh, _they just grow up so fast!" Jack gushed in reply.

"And all that time I'm growing older, so You don't need to remind me! Well, I must get going, Its always nice talking to you, Jack."

As she went to walk down the hall to her block, The Joker suddenly remembered the burning inferno that was no doubt engulfing his flat and the few adjacent.

Gripping her by the shoulder and anchoring her to the spot, his mind rushed for an excuse to keep the elderly lady from going to her flat.

"Uhh, can you take the lift with me instead? There's a couple of things I want to ask you, you know, about laundry and stuff."

"-And you can't ask me later?" she asked, slightly off-put.

"Nope,very busy. Have to ask _now_." He dismissed as he practically pushed the woman into the lift, ignoring her meek protests.

After an lengthy elevator ride full of improvised inquiries over how to keep towels from loosing there puffiness, they arrived at the lobby, were cops and onlookers were beginning to swarm.

"Why are they here?" Clarence hazily asked, looking at Jack with worry.

Jack merely shrugged in reply, more concerned with not becoming a suspect.

"I must ask you to wait outside sir, it's for you own safety." A fire-fighter barked, whilst another more carefully asked him he had seen anyone else up there.

He took this as an opportunity to further his innocence.

"Er, yes actually. There was a tall, thuggish looking bloke stalking the hallways. Although I can't give you a name, I'm afraid. He wasn't anyone I have seen around here before." Jack shrugged.

The fire-fighters bought his lie and ushered him onto the cool pavement outside, along with Mrs. Foxtrot, who was seemingly far more fuddled amongst the chaos.

As they looked up at the apartment complex from the streets curb, flames could already be seen flicking out the side, vivid shades of red and black smothering the blue sky.

The fire had already spread over what Jack would have guessed to have been three or four rooms, all of which was about ten stories up, and it was by no means losing momentum.

The creeping inertia of the blaze was almost hypnotic, and it was only when he felt Clarence begin sobbing and wailing into his shoulder, that he realised he would most likely be looking distressed too.

Muttering condolences back to the old lady he pulled her into an embrace, actually feeling a twinge of regret over his actions.

He remembered her telling him once that she had lived in that apartment for over ten years.

And although his apartment was barren and dull, hers was full of family heirlooms and other nostalgic keepsakes that had been acquired throughout her long life.

The Joker pouted, now looking at the burning skyscraper with repent.

Ok, so maybe he overreacted a little bit.

Perhaps he should have just hung a painting over it instead?

The Joker chuckled, causing a man next to him to glare at him.

_Well, it was too late for that now._

He loosened his grip on Clarence, as the woman began to regain composure.

0o0o0o0oo0o0

Once the heat died dyed down, figuratively on the streets curb and far more literally for the contained fire still dwindling throughout the skyscraper above, the crowd thinned and dispersed elsewhere, not half as interested in a charred black building and the chokingly strong smell of smoke without the allure that flames offered.

Jack could tell that the remainder were most likely fellow ex-owners of one of the many the flats in question, or perhaps concerned family members who had seen the blaze on the news.

Jack turned to leave, partially because of the melancholic vibe that had begun to fill the air as people learnt that they had effectively lost their homes, and partly because of the policemen and a certain familiar Commissioner that had begun to comb the crowds for answers.

However, as he turned to go a sturdy hand tugged steadfast at his sleeve.

"_What did you do?_"

Jack accusingly met Clarence's eyes, who blared into him in return with a steely resolute.

"I-I, did nothing!" Jack snapped back, still trying to keep his tone down so the police nearby wouldn't hear the transgression.

"I'm not going to judge you, _Dear._ I can tell you've had a hard life. Made bad decisions. But I've lost my _home_. I though you were a good man up until now-"

"I didn't do this!" Jack practically hissed.

He felt betrayed that the old woman was even considering it.

Even if, _technically_, it was true.

But that shouldn't have changed anything.

He felt relieved when the lady's eyes finally softened.

"Ok." she sighed, running a hand through her silver hair. "_I believe you."_


	11. Chapter 11

**Ok, the next chapter is up!**

**Not much to say, apart from the obvious fact that this chapter is the interlude to something much more interesting.**

**And again thank you for all the awesome reviews! I love to hear from you guys :D**

* * *

Jack was relieved when he saw a sleek black limousine with tinted windows rolling down the street, and even more relived when is slowly ground to a halt next to where he was standing.

_Probably Bruce_, he thought merrily to himself.

"Friend of yours?" Clarence asked.

Jack was about to say yes, until he saw the ostentatious number-plate strapped to the back of the car, which bared the phrase 'LEX-654'

The Joker scoffed.

"Do me a favour and keep your distance. This guys bad news." He sternly lectured the old woman, not wanting her to be a part of the crossfire.

He _really_ wasn't in the mood to play nice with Lex Luthor.

Walking over with an irritated swagger, he threw open the door.

He was slightly thrown off when instead of Lex's smug grin sneering back at him, he was Met with Michael, who was waging a far more hesitant smile.

"H-hi, Jack. I'm sorry to hear about your home." He sheepishly waved, curling his fingers back into a fist and letting it weightily drop at his side when he was only replied with a bitter glare.

"_You fucking double-crosser."_ Jack hissed to the man.

Before Michael could plead his innocence, a far more confident voice from the far seat of the car asserted itself.

"I wouldn't be cutting your ties to Mr. Michael Howell yet. _Jack_. He's very loyal and complex man. Or just unfathomably stupid. I honestly haven't had the time to tell yet."

"No point wasting brain space over it, Lexie-boy, that's a question I have been trying to figure out for _years_." Jack humourlessly muttered, his eyes never leaving Michael's startled face.

It was only once the startled employer looked on the verge of tears that Jack finally directed is hollow glare to the man in the far back seat.

Lex Luthor's face looked a tad more weather beaten than he last remembered it to be, and his skin was slightly pailer, but he still had the same cold gaze and stiff pose that the Joker had once known so well.

But Jack could tell that those icy blue orbs held the knowledge of his true identity.

And right now, quite frankly he was relieved.

He didn't care if Lex was with these 'Tyrants'.

He'd take them all on right now.

He was just so sick of _pretending_.

"Lex. Long time, no speaky. Old _pal_." Jack snarled.

"Wait, you know him! H-how?" Michael muttered, suddenly questioning the person he had so valiantly defended for the past half hour.

"You really don't know, do you?" Lex sneered with with a perverse mirth, placing a sympathetic hand on Michael's shoulder. "No wonder he likes you, _Michael_. He always did enjoy manipulating the naive..."

To that Jack slapped away Lex's hand and pushed Michael out of the car, granting him full access to the man previously using him as a shield.

"You understand this, and you understand it quick smart, Lex. Mikey is just pawn, see? Nothing more. So if you think that for a second that you can you him to manipulate me-"

To that a baritone laughter filled the car.

"Oh, you are a very conflicted man, _Jack_. I can see it in your eyes. You still want to believe so very baldy that you're still the cold blooded lunatic you once were, don't you? "

Lex let out a condescending snort of disapproval.

"I hate to break it you, but you've _gone soft-_"

_*SMACK*_

Jack felt no regret as his fist collided with Lex's jawline, sending him colliding into the side of the car door from the force.

After the initial shock, Lex's face settled back into the same smug pre-set as before.

Wiping the blood from his split jaw, he gazed bitterly back up to the Joker.

"I guess I am rusty from not dealing with you for so long, _Mr J_." Lex chuckled, "I forgot one of you're little quirks was when you were backed into a corner, that you liked to... _lash out_. Also that you accept truths, very, _very_ badly."

"See. Haven't hanged that much." He leered whist shaking his sore hand,not helping but to smirk at his old Nickname.

Lex returned the fake smile.

"No, you really haven't."

Around this time Michael finally came out of his daze, and gripped is employer by the shoulder, twisting him sideways so there eyes met.

"I always knew you were hiding something from me, from all of us, but unless you tell me what's going on right now...I-I'm going to have to walk away. _For good_."

The Joker bit is lip, trying to stifle the _'Don't hit your ass on the way out!' _that was bubbling in his psyche, and instead put on a solemn front.

"I'll tell you _everything, _but it has to be somewhere _safe._" Jack lectured the man, who instantly nodded in an eager agreement, just wanting to know what the heck was going on.

"-And I think the best place to do it would be back at my quarters."Lex piped in, shuffling over so as to accommodate Michael once more.

Jack let a disrespectful snort slip out.

"What, so you can film my admission from every angle and replay it in slow-Mo like its a fucking football match? Unlikely."

"I know you have your doubts about me, _Jack_. But I outbid you for Selo-tech for one reason, and that was to get your attention." Lex laughed when Jack's face shot up in thinly veiled surprise. "Oh, you had this idea that I'd just found out? I've known of your little dilemma for months. You seriously thought that I wouldn't look into the fruitcake who revived ace chemicals and considered it good idea? But I must admit, you've done well with that company, Jack. You're a cunning businessman. That alone has intrigued me enough to let you continue."

Jack chose silence at this point, as did the still bewildered Michael, who was gazing dumbfoundedly into the car, so Lex took that as a nudge to continue his monologue.

"What I'm trying to say is I know more than you think. But that still isn't half of what I require to figure out... _why_. Why you have been reduced to... this."

Lex shook his head, like he had already given away too much.

"We need to go somewhere secure if you wish to continue this conversation. I have have a million and one people who would kill for information that I am about to speak, and that's on a _good _day."

Jack finally nodded, his curiosity quipped.

"_Fine_. Michael? Get in the car."

Michael obediently slipped back into the automobile, however he was clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement.

Lex tapped the blacked-out window of the drivers segregated chamber, signalising for him to drive off.

Meanwhile, from the pavement outside, Clarence looked on in worry as the car slowly pulled out and rolled away.

"_Jack_. You promised me that was all in the past."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The journey to metropolis was a brief and mostly uncommunicative one, only taking a few hours to get from where they started off to the to the flashy bridge that they just drove over, which was the iconic entrance to the large city. It was aptly nicknamed the 'superman bridge'.

As soon as he entered its confines, Jack began to squirm. He always had hated how close the two cities were, and yet how starkly different they felt.

Gotham was a place of bold gothic architecture and narrow alleys, and was blanketed in relative shade no matter how bright a day, thanks to the constant smog that sat heavily and unbudging in the sky. It was riddled with madness, and crime. And all of this you could see at one glance.

She was a honest city, who wore the scars of her battles, unlike her bigger sister.

Although Metropolis was far older than Gotham, its gleaming modern buildings and bright blue sky looked like something you would put on a very contemporary postcard.

It seemed that every hedge was cut in perfect little boxes, and not a blade of grass was out of place. The people were friendly, and everything was just fucking perfect and dandy. They were so fake and shallow that it sickened him. Lex noticed the bitter glare that the Joker was shooting to random citizens out the window, and smirked.

"Please do not glower at my city, Jack. Especially when I had the courtesy to not complain about the stench of sewage and smoke that always permeates in yours."

"Oh yeah, I thought something was different." Michael murmured to himself, taking in a gulp of the far fresher Metropolitan air.

The Joker pouted, not so enthused.

"Don't breathe in too much Mikey," he scathed, "Might get altitude sickness from all the clean oxygen filling your lungs ."

To that Lex merely rolled his eyes.

"Always the drama queen..." He muttered, looking out to the large city with the same gaze that Pamela would give to her plants.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

When they reached finally reached Lexcorp's headquarters, there was mixed reactions all around.

The Joker remained nonchalant, having seen the pompously grandiose building before. All that he could tell had changed was an extension that was now built beside it, where flats used to be.

Lex looked on it with a smug pride, pretty much like he did with anything that concerned his precious establishment.

Michael however was in awe over the tower that seemingly touched the sky. He tried to take in every detail, from the brass highlights that framed the windows, to the bold grey marble its base was made out of.

He even was secretly impressed by the stream of serous looking businessmen who trickled in and out of its confines, with there suits looking like they alone were the price of his house.

"Still not as Big as Wayne Enterprises Building, I see?" The Joker quipped as he causally strolled to its entrance.

Lex's jaw tightened into a tense line.

"Yes, I know. Bruce reminded me just a few hours ago. He's actually waiting in my office for us, currently."

"So you know of our... arrangement?"

Lex nodded.

"Buisness-wise, yes. He wouldn't let anything else slip, though." Lex expanded, leaving out the unspoken '_but I know there's more_'.

"Wait? Bruce Wayne is caught up in this too?" Michael finally tore his eyes away from the building and jogged to keep up with the two philanthropists. "I thought he was a good guy, too." He whispered disappointedly.

"He is." Lex grunted. "And that's exactly why we need him."

Jack only chuckled in agreement.

Michael looked worriedly between the two men as they walked down the cathedral-like corridors that wound for miles in the massive building.

_Which side were they on?_

_Which side was he now on?_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Eventually they arrived in front of a large oak door with a gold plaque that had Lex's name embellished on it, and Lex opened the confines of the room with the swipe of a key card.

The door buzzed open and Bruce, who was still waiting patiently inside, rose to greet them.

He shook Lex's hand with an unasked hesitance, then Jacks with a friendly neutrality. He greeted the man on the end, which he reconfirmed as being a member of Jack's company, with his usual brisk buisness shake.

"I don't believe we've met before." Bruce causally commented to the man as they walked to the set of couches in the corner of the room, Lex securely locking the door behind them with another swipe of his card.

"It's Michael, Michael Howell, Sir." The man curly commented, the nerves in his voice obvious.

"Please, call me Bruce." He corrected as they all sat down, Bruce and Michael on one side, and Jack and Lex begrudgingly sharing space on the other two seater placed parallel.

Grabbing a remote from the table between them, Lex pressed a few buttons and the sound of technology turning off hummed softly in the silent room.

Placing the controller down with a resolute clunk, he looked back up at his guests.

"_There_. We are in total isolation. Nothing that is said between us will reach the outside world, from the moment we start, the time that we leave. And after you leave, the information is to still remain that way, understand?"

"I'll keep my word if you do, Lex." Bruce bitterly replied.

Jack nodded.

Poor Michael looked like he was about to pass out.

"I think a good place to start would be to see if we are all on the same level." Bruce pointed out, clearly talking about Michael.

"Yes, I agree. Lets start with the... elephant in the room, shall we? Then work from there." Lex turned to Jack, "There's a bathroom across the hall, fully equip with what you would undoubtedly require for your... transformation."

Jack looked hesitantly at the multiple eyes that were watching him.

"Please, Jack. If not just to quell our selfish curiosity and further solidify our beliefs." Lex further nudged, genuinely wanting to see the clown in his full glory once more.

Jack sighed.

"Fine, but I just want you to know that nowadays that feels like my _true_ mask, and not the other way around."

As he left, the hollow clunk of the door closing pierced the silent room.

"So...what the hell is going on?" Michael meekly asked after a few minutes sitting in the collective silence.

Bruce sighed, knowing that Lex wasn't going to bother with an answer.

"Have you ever notice anything... strange with jack?" Bruce started, turning to the man and offering his most sincere gaze.

When Michael numbly shook his head, Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Lex laughed a quiet chuckle.

_This was going to be a long wait._


	12. Chapter 12

**Urgh, I'm really so this took so long. It's a pretty short chapter for me, and It really didn't end at the spot I wanted it to :/ But writers block is a fickle thing sometimes, and I even though totally know how I wanted this to pan out, I Just cant write it :O**

**But anyway, Thank you for the Reviews :DDD I'm really glad to hear that most people see Lex in the same sort of light I do, cause he's going to play a reasonable part in the story's plot.**

**And as your all probably wondering, the whole' revenge' thing (a.k.a the plot I'm supposed to be sticking to, but get very easily distracted from as you can see) will come soon ,(probably two or three chapters down the line would be my rough guess)... I promise :P **

* * *

"-Now come to think of it, he'd never let me into his apartment either! He always said it was because he wanted to keep his 'work and play' separate but I never bought that." Michael nagged.

"... And what else?" Bruce coaxed, glad that the man had seemingly began joining the dots after he realised that Jack could've only gone to the bathroom to remove some sort of prosthetics or make-up.

But it was still clear that the man was probably thinking along the lines of embarrassing birth marks or false limbs rather than bleached clownish super criminal.

Michael gasped, another realization hitting him.

"I bet he's not even _afraid_ of the rain!"

To that Lex couldn't help but splutter a muffled laugh into a closed fist, to make it look like he was having yet another unbelievable coughing fit.

He was starting to realise why the Joker kept this kid around.

_He was utterly hilarious._

"N-no, I don't think he is." Bruce said stoically as possible, and Lex was surprised at his ability to keep a straight face.

Regaining composure, Lex looked across to the adjacent couch.

"Gentlemen, while you round up this rather _amusing_ game of twenty questions, I think I'll go see how Jack has progressed." He casually stated, standing up and straightening his lapels.

"Right. _Right_." Bruce sighed, not liking the idea of Lex alone with the Joker, as he clearly had some devious plan in-store for him, but knowing that he'd have to be here to explain everything to confused man in front of him, as it would take months for Michael to ever figure it out on his own.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

When Lex silently slunk into the bathroom, the Joker was busy scrubbing the faux brown pigment from his hair with a damp rag. His shirt and Jacket had been removed and neatly folded onto a chair opposite , probably in anticipation for how messy the job was, with more droplets of the brown dye trickling down his neck and back than landing in the sink he was hunched over.

The brownish-ochre smudges reminded Lex more of drying blood when it was streaked across the Jokers scarred body, and for a second he caught himself lazily looking over the old blemishes that gouged an uneven colour and texture on the jokers back, and seeing if he could find any new marks.

He Frowned somewhat when he realised that there were none, and if anything, that over the years the angry gashes had had time to further heal.

He couldn't help but also notice that his overall shape had softened slightly, and even though the man certainly wasn't overweight, seeing the clown prince with a slight muffin-top made him question his own mortality more than any peril or near death experience had.

Was this what he would become one day?

Lex shook his head bitterly.

_He'd rather die._

The Joker was alerted to the other man's presence when Lex nudged the door shut, which echoed in the small porcelain-lined space with a piercing clunk.

"Can't a clown have a little privacy?" the Joker jested, his voice muffled slightly as he continued to wipe off the last remnants of the brown pigment from his vibrant green hair.

Lex snorted dryly.

"I believe we have things to discuss. Away from... _the others_. " He stated vaguely.

_Things that can only be said between a super-villain and an old timer to the trade._ Lex thought grimly.

When the Joker extended a blind hand outwards, Lex understood and handed him a plush burgundy towel from the glossy brass rack behind him.

"Well," the Joker started, turning to Lex as he finished drying his hair and back with a few sloppy rubs, draping the towel around his neck. "_Discuss_."

"I... Err."

The Joker almost burst into hysterics a Lex's flabbergasted expression.

Lex scalded himself mentally for his juvenile reaction.

"I... It's really been quite some while. _You haven't changed a bit._" Lex stoically admitted.

_Or aged,_ he mentally scalded as an afterthought, thinking about his own withered looks compared to the Jokers seemingly unchanging ones.

The Joker just nodded.

"You'd think the pigment would have faded, but if anything..." The clown conversed, turning his attentions back to his reflection in the mirror behind him. "-turns out regular meals and a good nights rest just intensifies it even _more_."

_So its not just my imagination_, Lex thought to himself as he stared at the Jokers turned back. His lips did appear to be a more vibrant vermilion in the mirrors reflection than he'd thought he'd ever seen before.

_And his hair_... The hue offended his eyes and gave him a headache, especially in the way it clashed with his spectral white skin, which he could have sworn was emitting a small amount of glare under the harsh illumination of the bathroom lights.

Grabbing his shirt and working his Jacket off the chair, Jack went to put them back on, but was stopped by a firm hand.

"I want you to see something first," Lex beckoned, pulling a bit of trimming off the bathroom wall and pressing the button that it exposed beneath.

"Follow me."

A panel on the far wall silently slid up, exposing a narrow passageway that wound as far as the Joker could see down its inky-black expanse.

Looking back at the door in which he entered in, he thought of Bruce and Michael, who were no doubt still sitting outside, confused.

"Let them wait a little longer, this is _important_." Lex scolded, before entering the tunnel and vanishing from sight.

Hesitantly, Jack followed.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Eventually the passageway opened up to another sleek room, which if Jack had to guess was somewhere underneath the one they were just in, if the steep incline of the tunnel was anything to go by.

This room was adorned in darker shades, and had a grand oak desk in the middle, but little else.

The fact that the office had no windows didn't escape him either.

"This is my real office." Lex drawled, like having a fake one was normal in the first place.

"Oh. _Of course_." The jester sarcastically bit back, running a hand over the glistening varnished table confront of him, enjoying the way his fingertips glided along the waxy surface.

Sitting in the equally as extravagant chair ,Lex pressed a concealed button on the underside of his desk, which triggered the whole wall behind him to split in two and pull apart, revealing the small array of villainous gadgets and trophies hiding behind, held secure by there own little glass casing and most likely custom made stands.

There was an array of items on display, like practical knick knacks such as guns, daggers, and what even looked like a pair of walkie talkies from Batman's arsenal. Next to that, was a pair of gloves he didn't recognise.

Taking a few paces closer, the Joker read the small metal panel directly beneath.

_'Nightwing's gauntlets'_

Jack face twisted in confusion.

When had Nightwing worn gloves like _that_?

He shrugged and moved on to the other items, realising that he wouldn't even know half of the new villains and heroes that had spawned over the last couple of years, or most likely even recognise the ones he _was_ familiar with.

Cryptonite of all tones and types glowed proudly on display, and the Joker wondered whether any of it was real, or just a props used to scare people.

A quiver full of emerald bows sat in there own little case, which the Joker knew would have once belonged to the Green arrow.

The more he looked the more nostalgia he felt for recognising all of the props sitting up there, such as the the question mark shaped trophy that was made from old lamp parts, or the large pronged staff, that looked corroded from years of being exposed to sea water, but still glistened a phantasmal shade of gold.

Next to that was a battered wreckage of one of the Black mantas helmets.

He smirked at there close proximity to each other, knowing what mortal enemies the Black Manta and Aquaman were.

Is mouth went dry when his sights finally reached the feature-piece placed carefully in the middle.

One of his old suits sat snugly on a mannequin roughly about his body size, illuminated by two spotlights, one green and the other purple.

The suit was probably one of the cleanest he had ever seen, with the perfectly tailored piece not having so much as a thread out of place.

Even the once fresh flower that was pinned to his lapel remained, now brown and poised to crumble at the slightest touch.

The Joker could tell it was a suit he wore much earlier in his career though, as the purple was a light lilac opposed to the deep plum he was more familiar with. The tails were dysfunctionally long also, and when he looked down at the trousers cuffs, he cringed at the wide flares he saw, which were a blaring reminder that _yes, the sixties did happen, and no, your bad clothing choices are not going away any time soon. _

God, he could just imagine the bad perm and purple eye-shadow that he used to wear with it.

Oh well, he always took solace in remembering what _Eddie_ used to wear at that time.

He cringed as he imagined the fluorescent, question mark littered uni-tard The Riddler used to don with such pride, that left absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination. And the way he slicked his hair back with so much gel that his light brown hair seemed almost black had made for an abundance of pervert jokes.

Joker smirked.

Well, at least Eddie wore _pants_, unlike the boy blunder back then.

What even was the point of that bizarre green speedo he used to wear?

And man oh man, the p_uns_ that that child used to spill were so bad they even made _him_ wince sometimes.

The Joker sighed, streaking a hand over the glass that his suit was trapped behind.

_Oh god, he missed those days so badly he could cry._

"I bought it from an auction three years ago. Someone that I recognised as one of your old henchmen was selling it off to the highest buyer-" Lex moved closer and pointed to a cork gun and two collars that were sitting next to it, "-Along with those. I know it probably doesn't matter to you, but they were the most expensive items that had ever passed through Metropolis's auction house by the end of the night. This suit had the most bids ever recorded, also."

Jack stared blankly at the cork gun.

He hadn't thought about Harley in _years_.

His gaze then turned to the two leather animal collars and matching harnesses, along with tags labelled _Bud_ and _Lou_ respectively.

He hadn't thought of their _babies, _either.

Jack sighed.

They were probably dead anyway ;hyenas didn't live for very long if he remembered correctly.

"Why did you buy them?" Jack asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"It didn't seem right for these personal items to go home with some rich collector, who didn't _know_ you." Lex sneered, glaring at the memory.

"It was like... If they got this suit, they effectively had your head mounted over there _fucking_ fireplace. Like some sort of trophy. _None of the bastards there deserved the privilege of doing that. None._" He whispered more sullenly, and Jack eyes widened at the uncharacteristically vile language.

He wondered for the first time in years, how his death really had effected the other so-called super-criminals, in both Gotham and Metropolis.

Had there reputations been dragged down with his shocking mortality?

A cold breeze drifted through the air vents above, and the Joker wrapped his arms around his exposed torso to shield himself.

Wait, why was he still topless?

The reality hit him of why Lex brought him here.

"Lex... I can't-" Jack started, backing away from the suit like it would smash through the glass and seize him.

Lex put up his hands in surrender, nodding mutely in understanding.

"I'm not going to force you, Jack, I merely wanted to inform you of the _choices one in your position has_."

Jack knew what he was implying, but decided to act stupid.

"I don't want to put on the costume, Lex. I don't think it would even fit me anymore." He muttered to the glass panel, as he couldn't manage to look away from the hauntingly lambent costume.

"You miss it though,_ I can tell_." Lex whispered with a twinkle in his eye.

To that Jack just shrugged was he walked back into the passageway.

So what if he did?

It wasn't like he had a choice.

As if Lex could read his thoughts, the larger man grabbed Jack firmly by the shoulders and spun him around, so he was face to face with Lex's cold stare one more time.

"Its never too late, Joker. Now that I've found you, _we_ _both_ can begin to rise once again._ I just know it_."

"W-we?"Jack spluttered.

Lex's face dropped, realizing his Freudian slip.

"You're here for a reason joker, I know that much. And bottom line I am willing to support you with whatever you need to complete your mission, be it muscle or money, _if you promise me one thing_-"

He stepped closer to the clown, his voice dimming down to a hissing whisper.

"-That after you finish this, you return to a life of crime, and fix this mess _you_ made when you disappeared like a coward and left it to everyone else to handle the aftermath."

Numbly, Jack nodded, knowing that anything else would most likely render him disposable in the other criminal's eyes.

Lex retreated, satisfied with the answer.

"Good. And naturally any mentioning of this little agreement to anyone else will effectively terminate the... _protection_ I have been providing to you and your colleagues up to this point, but I'm sure you already understood that."

After that Lex turned to leave, leaving a rather stunned Joker behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

**So, once again it took me far longer than i'd like for me to finish this. Also, the number of times i re-wrote the last scene was ridiculous :P But I'm kinda maybe happy with it now, so here it is :D**

**And of course I have to thank all of the people who are still reading and leaving reviews; you're all far kinder than I am :P**

* * *

As soon as The Joker stepped though the bathroom and nudged open the door to Lex's fake office, he could tell by Bruce's look of dread that they had arrived prematurely. However before he had a chance to react, the door shut behind him, and Michael instinctively swirled around to the source of the sound.

He visibly grimaced as Michael's eyes flashed with confusion and fear, then stretched to the size of saucers, as he realised that the_ Joker was_ _Jack_. Bruce straitened his spine and flexed his fingers. The action might have meant little to anyone else, but the Joker knew that's what the Batman did when preparing for a physical alteration.

And it was a possibility that Michael _would_ run or try to fight him.

He doubted it was a very _high_ possibility though.

Because right now Michael's skin looked almost as pallid as his own, and he kept opening his mouth as if he wished to say something, but every time his jaw promptly clasped shut, like the words wouldn't come out. The whole scene reminded the Clown prince of a fish on dry land, gasping for water.

Cautiously, the Joker took a step forward.

Seeing that the young businessman didn't shrink or react (probably because he was effectively glued to his seat out of fear,) he risked two more strides.

Finally, with one more step, he was close enough to sit on the couch symmetric to the terrified man.

He could see Michael relax ever so slightly has he sat down.

And the Joker understood that, his height was intimidating, he was _aware_ of that.

Many things that would have once brought comfort to the man would now undoubtedly terrify him. This was the exact reason why he hadn't dared smile yet.

_All_ facial expressions seemed sinister when they came from the Joker.

But he actually liked that way; it meant that people where all the more surprised when it turned out he _was_ being sincere or telling the truth.

"Y-You're- You're t-the..." Michael weakly stuttered, his tongue seemingly flopping around numbly in his cotton wool mouth, unable to say his real name. _"You've killed people."_

The Joker merely nodded.

_Because what else could he do?_

Michael meanwhile took a shaky breath and closed is eyes for a few seconds, to try and regain some composure.

"Y-ou... You're not dead."He managed a little more clearly.

Another nod.

Michael raked a hand through his hair, and scowled at how much his hand was trembling.

All of his senses had become shot as soon as the Joker entered the room, which in his view was the worst thing that could happen, because even if he trusted Jack, knowing now he not only had a higher death toll than any other rouge, but was arguably more powerful than Lex Luthor and Bruce Wayne combined, was enough to make him want to take solace in the knowledge that his legs would work properly if he decided to make a run for it.

_He is exactly the same as before_. Michael tried to tell himself. _Underneath that make-up, he was __**this**__ the whole time._

He shuddered as he realised that that epiphany was only causing more unease, not less.

Michael felt mild relief when he looked up once more, and saw the Jokers gaze was focused on Lex, who was now next to him on the sofa.

Still he felt unable to hold his stare for long, for fear that the Joker would sharply turn around and look at him again.

He rotated to Bruce, who held the same stoic poker face that he had seen in many a business meeting. His eyes too were focused on the Joker.

Michael turned back around and tried to focus. It was only then that the realised he had been so hypnotised by the jokers reptilian eyes that he hadn't noticed that the Joker's lips had been moving almost the entire time. Even so he still struggled to hear anything besides the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears.

"-So I know you'll probably never believe me, but you're safer this way." He heard the muffled tone of Jack voice proclaim, and it was only after everyone looked at him blankly that he realised he was expected to reply.

"_Michael_?"

Michael shuddered at the way _he_ said his name.

The Joker frowned, clearly not missing the clear repugnance his colleague now had for him.

"Joker, did you check that you hadn't had any... _past_ run-ins with Michael or his family?" Lex causally asked, looking on at Michael with a belittling stare, as if his reaction of shock and repulsion was a mild inconvenience, which to him it probably was.

To that the Jokers expression faltered.

"He _hasn't_." Bruce suddenly piped up, clearly the only once who bothered to do any research beforehand.

"N-no, you _have_." Michael suddenly gasped at the realisation, "Y-You..." His voice dissolved into a croak, no longer able to speak, as his brain brought up the foggy memory.

"I-It was a, a F-Friends sister... H-he almost _killed himself_ over it." Michael hissed, the distress in his tone clearly conveying that he hadn't though about the unsavoury point in time for a while. Fear and confusion momentarily subsided for his growing rage as he remembered the few times he had seen his best mates sister, before she died.

She was beautiful, with dark eyes and alabaster skin, and just before her death she had secured a Job at Gotham's art gallery, as a curator, if he remembered correctly.

He then imaged the man in front of him maliciously jabbing a serrated fishing knife squarely into her throat, just like his friend had grimly described it.

With that vivid image, Michaels white skin turned a sickly shade of green, and before anyone could sense what Michael was going to do next, he promptly hung his head over the side of the couch and violently hurled out the contents of his stomach, which was just a grotesque mixture of the cappuccino and meringue he had had for breakfast with Lex this morning.

Looking down at the foul liquid, Michael suppressed the urge to wretch again.

He flinched as a hand securely placed itself on his back.

He was relieved when he turned around, and Bruce's sincere blue eyes stared back at him.

"Come on, I think you _need some space_." He fretfully coaxed, pulling the hysteric man up off the couch and pacing away from the Joker, who was still on the other lounge, and looked like he was on the verge of heartbreak.

"Two doors down the hall to your right there's an empty office, please take Michael in there and attempt to calm him _down_, Mr Wayne." Lex offered unpityingly , displeasure angrily lining his words.

Bruce allowed Michael to groggily lull his head onto his shoulder, as he quickly dragged the limp man out the door, and softly shut it behind him.

"-Meanwhile, I'll have to call my janitors." Lex added as an afterthought, looking hesitantly at the milky puddle on his lush designer carpet.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Well, _that_ went smoothly." Lex offhandedly offered to the Joker, as the two cleaners left.

"This is _your_ fault Lex, he didn't need to know!" The Joker hissed as he looked up at Lex, who was still a picture of apathy.

"He Did. He needed to be informed-"

"You mean _you_ needed to know that he wasn't lying. I told you god dammit that he was innocent in all this. And now he can't even _look_ at me."

"Yes, but if you fail to remember the other point of that exercise was to make sure that we were all on the same page, _which we still aren't._" Lex hissed, subconsciously glancing at the wall clock hung over his study. He'd have to push back that appointment he had made for three o'clock a few hours more.

The Joker saw this and scoffed.

"Sorry The last six years of my life can't be told in a neat little half-hour presentation, _Lex_."

The Joker then stood up, relishing how he was about two or three inches taller than Lex, which granted him the ability to actually look _down_ on him.

Lex raised his hands in half-hearted surrender. He didn't need a black eye to match the purplish bruise on his jaw that was already blossoming.

"Do not take offence, _its nothing personal_, I am merely a busy man. But let me guarantee you this Is my highest priority right now." Lex assured.

The Joker took a step closer.

"I'm on the end of my tether, Lex. Years of lying and hiding and living in fear has made me so very, _very_, tired. I don't have time for games anymore. I don't give second chances. And If I'm being honest, I might _snap_ at any _damn_ _moment_. Anything could set me off. So if you wake up one morning and you're writhing in a pool of your blood, let me assure you_ its nothing personal_."

Lex stood unwavering.

"_You're being melodramatic."_ He declared, trying to come off as unshaken as possible.

The Joker gave him one more more glare, before plopping back onto the couch.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Anything that help you sleep at night, _toots_."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"He really has changed, you know." Bruce casually commented, trying to cut through the tense silence that had filed the air between himself and Michael.

"_He's killed people_." Michael uttered for the fifth time, and to Bruce's ears it was starting to sound like a mantra of betrayal.

"He wasn't sane when he did those things." Bruce offered.

"And- what? That makes it _ok_?" Michael hissed.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head softly.

"No."

Now would come the part were he would walk the fine proverbial line of trying to tell Michael that the Joker was a changed man, but at the same time try not shift the blame of his crimes to someone else. He wouldn't pretend that the clown was a saint in all this, but he couldn't just let Michael think that he was some heartless monster, either.

"What do you _know_ about the Joker, exactly?" Bruce asked, handing a Styrofoam cup full of water to the man and sitting down next to him.

Michael took a sip, and queasily swallowed.

"That he's a murderer, a thief, an international terrorist-"

"_-Apart from that._" Bruce scalded, before calming himself down. Perhaps he needed to try something else.

"Do you know why he's scarred like that? His skin, I mean."

Michael meekly shrugged.

"Not really. Had to be something dreadful though, for him to end up like that."

Bruce nodded.

"Yeah, it's pretty shocking. He fell into a vat of chemicals, a nasty toxic concoction, filled with industrial strength bleaches and radioactive run-off."

"That's... pretty awful." Michael admitted, imagining a younger version of the Jack he knew, coughing and spluttering in a sea of toxic ooze. "How did even survive that?"

Bruce shrugged.

"I have no clue. I guess it was a miraculous example of _sheer_ _luck_. Although, at the time he was wearing a... _mask_ of sorts, and that helped keep most of the toxins out of his system while he was submerged."

"A Mask? What sort?"

"A spherical hood."

"And... why was he wearing that?"

"Well... He had broke into Ace Chemicals that night, because he was planning on stealing a considerable amount of money."

"_Of course he was_. Once a criminal always one, right?" Michael swore bitterly, mostly to himself.

"_Wrong._ He was forced there, by threats from high ranking mobsters. They forced him into a costume worn by other gangsters on similar heists, but the police thought it was one person. This persona was dubbed as the red hood."

"But he was still a criminal in the first place-"

"I wouldn't treat him so harshly for that, Michael. You're not from Gotham, I can tell, but anyone knows that the lure of crime is especially strong in this city. Pair that with the stress of trying to keep a decent education, whilst trying to decide if your latest cheque will go to your electricity bill or on groceries-"

Michael put his hand up in surrender, waving for Bruce to stop.

"Ok, I- I get it.."

Bruce sighed, trying not to get to emotional.

"He was desperate. And scared. He never wanted to be there that night. He never wanted to be _the Joker_."

Michael hummed in a faint understanding, contemplating what te was just told.

"-I still don't get one thing... How did he end up in the vat?"

"That happened when Batman arrived."

Michael's eye widened.

"Batman? He was there that night?"

"Yes." Bruce sighed, "He had come to take down the Red Hood. Now you have to understand that this novice Batman thought like all the other cops at the time that the red hood was one man. One _very_ dangerous man."

"So he wouldn't have been all too gentle."

Bruce cringed at the memory.

"Regrettably so. And the Joker was already terrified as it was, and when he saw a six foot bat charging towards him, well, you can only imagine how he felt."

Michael nodded in mute agreement, clearly in awe of the story.

Bruce wouldn't help but smirk slightly.

He guessed it would have made for a pretty enthralling novel.

Pity it wasn't just fiction.

"After that Batman took chase, and they ran throughout the narrow platforms and catwalks that wound up around the outside of the building for a while, around and around, up higher and higher, until they both realized they'd reached the top."

"Then what?"

"Well, obviously Batman thought he had the Joker surrounded. The fall to the vats and other platforms below was a long one, and one that Batman thought no man would be able to survive. But as the bat closed in, The Joker clambered onto the railings, and actually _jumped_."

Michael knew he shouldn't have felt pity at that moment, but honestly what other emotion could you muster after being told such a heart wrenching tale?

But there was something else... The way Bruce told the story with such pity.

Well, I guess that saying is true.

_A story is only as good as its teller._

"... And. Batman didn't catch him?"

"It all happened so fast, I doubted he had the chance."

Michael frowned, as he contemplated what he had just been told.

"Is that that why the Joker hates batman? Because he didn't save him?"

"I think in the Jokers warped mind he actually thinks that Batman _pushed_ him. But I don't think that would be the sole reason for why the Joker hates batman. There would be far more personal reasons than that."

Michael looked back at him, perplexed. How close were Bruce and the Joker, if he knew information like this? How did they even know each other?

"And...How do you know all this?" He cautiously asked, not exactly sure he'd like the answer.

Momentarily, Bruce wrestled with whether he should just tell the man the truth, and be done with it.

_It would actually be nice to tell someone_, he mused.

All the other times times he had told others of his secret identity, he either had a gun pressed to a temple, or the person burst into laugher straight afterwards, and told him that he was crazy.

But nevertheless, he had only just found out about the Joker being alive, and that was enough endangerment to the man's safety for one day.

"I- we were friends as childre-"

"No you weren't." Michael dismissed. "Now, Tell. Me. The. Truth."

"Please?" He meekly added, after Bruce failed to reply.

Bruce sucked in a deep breath.

"I'm Batman."

Michael's eyes widened, and filled with a juvenile joy.

"Y-you really are, aren't you?"

Bruce nodded.

"Yes."

"I- I believe you."

"... Thank you."

A think silence filled the air, as Michael braved another sip of water.

"And... so, you knew that the Joker was alive all this time?" Michael causally asked, expecting the Dark Knight say yes.

Michael however soon regretted asking the question, as he saw a strange look of dread twinkle in the back of Bruce's eyes.

"No. _No, I didn't_."

Bruce cleared his throat with a broken cough.

"For the last six years, I though he was deceased, like the rest of Gotham. I didn't even know about any of this until three nights ago."

And in that moment, Michael could see that the man was telling the utter truth.

No man could pretend to look that broken.

"You care about him though, don't you?"

Bruce didn't even hesitate before nodding.

"I want to save him, Michael. All this time, that's_ all I've wanted to do_."

Michael stared at the man next to him him in awe.

He had always idolized Bruce Wayne, because even with all those nasty tabloid rumors about him being a careless playboy, he was still a remarkable businessman.

And he had always respected Batman, because even if most of the police in Gotham would say otherwise, his actions were brave and necessary, especially in a city like this.

So right now, as he looked at the two of the most influential men in Gotham, forged into one, he felt utterly starstruck.

And so if this man said that the Joker had changed, he _had_.

"I _believe_ you." Michael muttered again, not sure what else to say.


	14. Chapter 14

**So, clearly it has been an obscenely long time since my last chapter. But here's the latest one, and what i can assure you is that i haven't given up on this fic!**

**And again thank you to all the kind reviews, and also to the few people who left me reminders of how long its really been :P**

* * *

"_I want to save him, Michael. All this time, that's all I've wanted to do."_

_Michael stared at the man next to him him in awe._

_He had always idolised Bruce Wayne, because even with all those nasty tabloid rumors about him being a careless playboy circulating, he was still a remarkable businessman._

_And he had always respected Batman, because even if most of the police in Gotham would say otherwise, his actions were brave and necessary, especially in a city like this._

_So right now, as he looked at the two of the most influential men in Gotham, forged into one, he felt utterly starstruck. _

_And, so, if this man said that the Joker had changed, he had._

"_I believe you." Michael muttered again, not sure what else to say._

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Across the other side of town, a familiar feline was mentally preparing herself for the latest heist.

It would have seemed mundane to anyone who happened to look through the window of her modest two-story flat, but never the less she found solace in the simple act of painting her nails.

Each stroke had the same effect to her that a Zen garden would to the average person, with each drag like the gentle scrape of a rake in the sand.

Painting another thick stripe of the thick metal liquid on the nail, she held them up with an outstretched hand, and admired her work.

These were her claws, _her choice of arsenal_, next to her trusty whip of course.

With one last stoke she stood up and flexed her fingers, getting used to the heavy titanium alloy lining the tips of her fingers once more.

Moving into the kitchen to grab a drink, she turned on the Police radio sitting on the counter across as she did so, listening for any mentioning her name, or her associates.

"... There is a 221 currently occurring in Gotham bay... There seems to be none of the 'gallery, but I still need back up..."

Selina sighed, twiddling the dial.

"... We discovered the note pinned outside the GCDP Building this morning, and we believe it to be genuine. Now, listen, and listen good, I don't want any of you men to take this lightly, after all, _the Riddler_ is a dangerous man..."

Shaking her head fondly, she flicked the knob to the left.

"...The flames were doused hours ago, but interviews with some of the suspects that where crowded outside on the corner of Charles Ave mention seeing a man slip away in a limousine. The fire reports suggests arson, with the blazes origination around the tenth story..."

To this Selena stiffened.

Wasn't Charles ave where the Joker's flat was?

But why?

Grimly she remembered the message she had left on his wall.

Was this his _response_?

Before even thinking she picked the receiver up.

"This is Sargent Winchester, I'm going to need more information on the 451 on Charles, over." Selena barked in a rougher voice, one that she had perfected over the last two weeks.

_I tell you what,_ she mused to herself as she waited for a reply, _Sargent Bullock being replaced with a woman has made my job so much easier._

She smirked as she heard the crackles on the other end, which was no doubt some officer with promotion prospects scrambling to answer.

"...Uhh, the blaze occurred around eight this morning-"

"_No_," She snarled, "I need information on the _man_. The one who entered the limousine?"

"... We don't know anything definitive, But eye witnesses claim that the man was tall, around 6' 5'', with dark eyes and brown hair. He was also wearing a business suit, but that hardly cuts down the search in _Gotham_, a city brimming with rich businessmen, over."

Selina sighed, trying to stay rational.

"You're right, _it doesn't._ Over _and out._"

With that she solemnly hooked the controller back into its nook.

"Well, so much for a clear head." She muttered bitterly. "All I'm going to be worrying about is what that _damn clown _is up to now."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

When he regained his senses, Michael agreed to rejoin Lex and Jack, who were to his knowledge still waiting in the main office.

With a bit of coaxing from Bruce (or was it batman right now?) they entered the stark room, where the once more stoic Lex informed the two that the Joker was in the bathroom refreshing his make-up.

Awkwardly Michael plopped back into the couch, feeling strangely determined to swallow his fear in front of the Dark night himself.

"He seems much calmer, Bruce. _Well done._" Lex offhandedly complimented, keeping his tone casual so not to arouse suspicion to the man a few feet away.

Bruce scowled at Lex's tone.

"I Just told him the truth. _Lex_. It's amazing how far that takes you; _being genuine_." He pleasantly bit back.

He felt pride at the flash of annoyance that passed over Lex's face.

As Lex opened his mouth to deliver a no doubt scathing reply, the Bathroom door swung open, and a far less intimidating brunette man stepped out.

The transformation, although Michael knew did nothing to change the man's true psyche, calmed him more than he suspected it would.

Lex's glower turned to mild amusement as he saw the bulge of top-line cosmetics that were haphazardly shoved into Jacks jacket.

"You could have just asked, you know." The bald tycoon sighed, pointing at his stuffed pockets. "I would have said yes, having no use for such make-up myself. "

Jack shrugged, a impish grin forming on his face.

"Yeah I know, but where's the fun in that?"

To this Lex merely shook his head and gestured towards the couches, clearly keen to begin discussions, if his subconscious glances at the wall clock was anything to go by.

Both Jack and Bruce saw this and went to sit down, the latter hesitating on whether or not it was too soon to sit next to his still visibly on edge co-worker.

Bruce however soon made the decision for him by sitting on the couch next to Michael before he could, leaving him to sit next to Lex again.

No one seemed particularity happy with the arrangement apart from Bruce, so it was with a jarring lightness that the millionaire began.

"Right. Well, now that's out of the way, I think you should tell us what were all here for."

"Yes, _please_. I really don't want to spend more time than necessary _around you_." Jack bitterly added, shuffling in his seat to try and create a sense of space between the two.

"Believe me, the feeling is very much mutual, _Jack_." Lex muttered back, rising from his seat and retrieving something from behind his desk in the far corner.

When Lex returned back to the couch, all could see it was a stack of files.

As he placed the thick manilla file on his lap and opened it to a dog eared page, Jack seemed to forget his previous disdain over personal space, shamelessly leaning on the other villain to peek at the pages.

"You all must be wondering why I have been so hospitable for the last couple hours." Lex started, swatting Jack away and leaning over the file to block the other man's view.

"I admit the fact that Mikey' didn't get beheaded when he hurled on your expensive carpet was a tad suspicious." Jack jestingly agreed, his sights still clearly focused on the folder.

Michael visibly paled at the Joke, and Bruce just raised an eyebrow.

"He was being smart-" Lex assured the two adjacent.

"-But you've killed for less." Jack pointed out, now squinting in an attempt to read the text from where he was.

"But I haven't _done that in a long_ _time_," Lex hissed, placing an arm over the file, clearly becoming more upset over the jokers snooping rather than the notion of him being a murderer. "For heaven's sake, can you just listen and stop trying to _peek_? I know for a fact that your hopelessly far-sighted, but don't wear glasses unless entirely necessary, because you childishly think they make you look 'nerdy', _so just sit still!"_

To this Jack finally stilled.

"Well... I think my far-sightedness goes rather splendidly with my single-mindedness, _thankyouverymuch_."

"That makes no sense."

"_It doesn't have to."_

Lex sighed, slapping the file shut.

"You all want to know why you're here? _Fine_. Its because _I'm going bankrupt."_

Looks of disbelief where exchanged between the group.

"H-how is that even _possible_?" Michael softly asked, appearing to be the most puzzled of them all.

"Well, I admit to exaggerating, but someone is _trying_. And doing rather _well_. Originally, they were framing _the Joker for it, too._" Lex scoffed, turning to Jack. "But it took little investigation to prove that the cards left behind were not ones of his usual brand."

"Cards were left behind? Where?" Michael pushed again, and Bruce looked at the man beside him, impressed.

"_Well, you see,"_ The criminal carefully began, "When you have as much money as myself, sometime you're forced to stockpile it in warehouses and so forth-"

"Only if its money that has been _laundered_. I personally have never had to do that." Bruce piped up.

"We get it, he's a _criminal_, can we move on to the bit about people_ framing me_?" Jack snapped, as Bruce's proclamation sounded slightly too riotous, for even his ears.

Rolling his eyes as Bruce shrunk back in his seat, he turned back to Lex.

"So how many warehouses where the cards left in?"

"Four, one locally, and three overseas. It happened globally, all in one night."

Jack look surprised at this, and Lex nodded, acknowledging his astonishment.

"You can see why at first I actually mulled over the possibility that it was you," he chimed in agreement. "But it just seemed to unlikely. After all, what motive would you have for an act like this?"

"...And the whole dead thing?" Jack chuckled, "That didn't come into play?"

Lex shrugged.

"Are you familiar with _Schrödinger's cat?"_

"That old one about the cat stuffed in a box with some poison? Yeah, I've heard it. Did you know he actually meant that theory as a joke?"

"Yes, I did actually." Lex smirked, shaking his head. " But nevertheless it has always reminded me of you. You see, after me hearing the fifth of six rumour that you had been killed, only to see you in the papers a week later made me very... immune to speculation. Eventually I just came to believe that, just like if a cat was placed in a box where no-one could see, that you were simultaneously both alive and dead, until proven otherwise."

Jack grinned, nodding his head in amused appreciation.

"I like that_.That's clever_."

"-And apparently rather accurate, if you are here now." Lex replied. "anyway, it was a month later when you re-established ace chemicals, and I managed to find you. "

"But that was years ago!" Michael exclaimed, looking at Lex. "Why didn't you act on it then?"

"Yes, it was. But intimation of the Joker really isn't a new thing. Even when he was alive, many did it."

"You're telling me." Jack muttered. "It got so bad at one point, that half of the trials I was going to _weren't my own!"_

"That seems like a pretty stupid move." Michael commented, with a glint of fear in his eyes.

"It was. At first. But like I said, It got _bad_. People realised that all they had to do was just _leave_ a joker card at the scene, and they got away scot free. And if I had no reason whatsoever to commit that crime? It didn't matter, because I was a spontaneous lunatic. That's what I did."

"-Yes, well," Lex piped up, trying to divert the Joker into becoming too enraged. " As you heard for yourself, once proven to be fake, there seemed no real reason to act, both when I found out he was alive or when he was dead."

"-But then?" Jack predicted.

"But then these... thefts, they kept _happening_. It was novice at first, but they've gotten better. This threw me off at first, but eventually I realised that this was one group, or perhaps even one very skilled individual, leading a team of lackeys."

To this jack hear tightened. It sounded almost like what happened to him before...

"Have any crazies approached you lately?" Jack tried to say conversationally, but sounded for more panicked than he wished.

"Not lately. Why, what do you know?" Lex warily droned, seeing Jacks panic.

"Nothing, just.. are you sure?" Jack coaxed, relieved when he sounded more composed. After all, there was no point in getting nervous over what was probably nothing.

"-Or perhaps any memorable ones on the past?" he added as an afterthought.

Lex pondered for a moment, before nodding his head in minor amusement.

"Only one group of people come to mind. They came up to me when I was just sitting in a park having lunch, about four years ago. I do believe it was in _Gotham park_, actually."

"You were in Gotham?" Jack pried anxiously.

"Yes, for a meeting I think. The memory's fuzzy, it was such a long time ago. But I remember these... _gents_, quite well. They came up to me and actually _bowed_. Then, when apparently I didn't react quite in the way they expected, they began to whisper amongst each other. The whispering stopped after a few minutes and in all honestly I don't know why I hadn't moved to another bench in that time, but one of the larger men approached me, and began to try and sell me into joining there, well... _group_, I guess."

"Did they mention the gangs name? What else did they say?" jack interrogated further, hoping he was utterly wrong.

"There was no mentioning of a name, I'm afraid, but how they tried to coax me into their... _whatever it was_, I remember well. Quite frankly, they offered me a company that I had had my eyes on for a while, all the money I could ever need, _and superman's head on a platter._"

"...And you didn't accept?" Jack swallowed thickly, knowing his answer.

"_Of course not._ They were clearly insane."

Lex didn't miss the sight of the Joker's face turning a sickly shade, even underneath all the make-up.

"Joker, the one thing I've respected you for is your bluntness. So please spare me any petty skirting around the issue and_ just tell me the truth_."Lex calmly announced, already knowing what came next would be bad.

"I-... I am in hiding Lex. And I'm hiding because one dreary night seven years ago, I was sitting alone in Gotham park, when five men came up to me, and _bowed-" _Jack's mouth went dry and he shook his head, the prospect of continuing apparently too painful.

Lex's facade however seemed a picture of calm, almost dangerously so, as he mechanically removed the long forgotten files from his lap and rose to retrieve a class of water for the distressed man.

When he came back Bruce had moved over to Lex's spot, and was comforting him with a firm hand on his back, while Michael looked on in distress, so much so that he barely flinched when the super criminal sat down next to him.

Handing him the glass, Jack took a grateful sip and attempted to calm his sudden hysteria.

"I- it just hurts to know that if I had never met them, or just ran away before they had the chance to talk to me, and tell me who they were... I- I would still be _alive, and not this._"

"_What the hell did they do to you."_ Lex suddenly snapped in fear and anger, his calm composure shattered.

"Well, I-I actually _accepted_. Just out of curiosity, you know? I just led them on a little, well, _that was the plan_. But... once I found out who these people really were, what they were _capable_ of... _I ran_. I ran so far away that I almost felt safe, and I tried to tear down the the whole west end of _Gotham_. I found a pay phone and waisted every dime I had calling every henchman I knew and told them to raise hell also, just so I could get _Batman's_ attention."

"_He_ couldn't _help at all_?" Lex uttered in thinly veiled fear.

"I- I never actually asked him for help. I knew he could tell I was unnerved about something but..."

"you both were too intolerability stubborn."

Jack meekly nodded.

"He threw me in Arkham, and then later that night some lackeys from that group dragged me out of my cell and drowned me in a nearby creek until they thought I had suffocated. Not much else to tell."

Lex nodded, seeming at peace with his fate.

"Then, with this knowledge I will not make the same mistake as you, Joker. If the situation arises I will enlist Superman's help."

"...And if they come for you like they did Jack?" Michael asked.

"Then I will be prepared to kill them."

Jack scoffed.

"I don't think you realise how big this web is, Lex."

"And I don't think you've ever witnessed what happens to people who try and take down my organisation." Lex assured grimly, with a cold stare that sent shivers down the clowns spine. "I am very much willing to kill them all, _if that's what it takes." _

_o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

With heist completed, Selina happily tore her bonnet off and zipped down her catsuit four quarters of the way down, trying to stop the unease that the drying sweat caused.

Entering her room and sitting on the bed, she grabbed her laptop and checked her bank account.

Sure enough, her once empty balance was now gloating with double figures.

Smiling to herself, she kick her shoes off and stretched her legs, trying to relieve some of the tension in them.

The job paid well, there was no denying that, but her clientele seemed... unnerving. Even though she met with different person each time, they always said the same thing. The whole organisation had a creepy cult like feel that she couldn't ignore.

Plus, she wasn't sure how much longer she could steal wads of cash from Lex's local warehouses without him suspecting something.

After all, Lex Luthor really _wasn't_ a man you'd want as an enemy.


End file.
